


Reality in a Box

by Midorisakura (Calacious)



Series: Ho oku i [7]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Chin and Kono are kick ass, Claustrophobia, Danny is the cure, Fluff and Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Song Inspired, Steve Feels, Steve is the cure, Trope Bingo Round 3, attempt at metafiction, fear of losing one's mind, multi-chaptered when it was supposed to be one chapter, review inspired, sitting at Starbucks inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 60,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Midorisakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny's trapped inside of a box, and he's slowly losing his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Box

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the trope bingo square: metafiction. (loose interpretation)
> 
> Definition I've chosen to use:  
> "Metafiction is a term given to fictional writing which self-consciously and systematically draws attention to its status as an artifact in order to pose questions about the relationship between fiction and reality. In providing a critique of their own methods of construction, such writings not only examine the fundamental structures of narrative fiction, they also explore the possible fictionality of the world outside the literary fictional text."  
> –from Kate Liu’s syllabus (1998) for a university in Taiwan. Waugh, Patricia. Metafiction: The Theory and Practice of Self-Conscious Fiction. NY: Routledge, 1984

Reality, Danny decides, is a relative concept.

It’s intangible.

Something that he can’t put his fingers on before it slips through them, like the sands of an hourglass.

Cliché too.

“What’s real?” he asks, waving his arms wide in the small, constricting space. “Is this real, or am I being written into someone’s story for the sole purpose of entertainment?”

The walls seem to close in on him, though Danny knows, at least in part, that _that’s_ not reality. That the walls are not, in fact, moving closer. The reality of his situation doesn’t seem any less dire for the knowing of it.

“A very sick and twisted story writer,” Danny breathes the words out, closes his eyes, places his hands – fingers spread wide – on the metal walls. “Trapping me in a small space, knowing that I’m claustrophobic. I take that back, not sick and twisted, completely and utterly barbaric and without the gift of a conscience.”

“Locking me up in a metal box, in the middle of nowhere. Really clever, and not a storyline that’s been done a hundred million times already. Real original there!” Danny slams his fists against the metal walls, feels the reverberations run through his forearms, feels them in the soles of his feet, the very center of his being.

“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?!” Danny shouts, coughs on the dryness of his throat and mouth. His lips are cracked and bleeding. The taste is like rusted pennies.

“Rusted pennies? Someone’s given to embellishment.” Danny rolls his eyes, bangs his head against his cell – no way in; no way out.

His captors had soldered the entrance behind him; at least he thinks that’s what happened, he’d been unconscious at the time.

Waking up in a dark, confined space had been terrifying, and Danny’d spent what felt like hours scrabbling at the walls, trying to find a way out. He knows the tips of his fingers are bleeding; they slip and slide over the smooth surface of the walls, and they sting. His knuckles feel raw and bruised, but they don’t feel broken.

“And I suppose that Steve’s supposed to come to my rescue.” Danny draws his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and rests his head on them. “Like I’m a fucking damsel in distress. Been there, done that in countless plotlines. Dear old Danny in danger yet again, Super Steve to the rescue. Whoop de freaken doo.”

Danny turns his head to the side, rests his cheek on his bum knee, which, thanks to his kidnappers, was now throbbing in sync to the somewhat erratic beat of his heart. Hopefully the damage is minimal.

“No need for good old Danny Williams to land himself in the hospital this time around,” Danny mutters, hugs his legs closer, winces when the movement jars his injured ribs. He has no idea how that injury happened or even when it occurred – sometime between when he’d been accosted outside of the office and when he’d woken up in his tiny, metal box.

 

It’s hot and cold and he’s exhausted, and his head is spinning. “How long have I been here? I don’t suppose that anyone can clue me in? Anyone?” Danny’s voice is low and slurred, and his eyes slip closed.

When he wakes next, Danny’s confused, disoriented, and his head’s so heavy that he can’t lift it from his knees. It’s dark, and his arms are locked so tight around his legs that he couldn’t move them if he wanted to.

“Steve?” he whispers, voice raspy.

He laughs, the sound is dry and grating, and it echoes in the much too small space. He’s so hot and dehydrated that he’s shivering, the slight spasms jerking him like a puppet on a string.

“Puppet on a string?” Danny slurs, coughs out an aborted laugh. “Theatrics…”

It’s been minutes, hours, days, weeks…a fucking lifetime, since he’s been abducted. Steve, Chin, Kono, hell, Duke, should’ve been here by now.

Someone.

Anyone.

The walls are closing in, and Danny’s slowly going out of his mind. Or, perhaps it’s a quick devolvement.

Maybe he’s always been out of his mind, and this – the darkness; the closeness of walls surrounding him on all sides, above and below; the panicked beating of his heart – _this_ is his reality.

Maybe Danny’s always lived in a small, metal box.

Maybe there’s never been a Steve, or a Chin, or a Kono, or a Duke.

Maybe they’ve been mere figments of his imagination. Something he’s conjured up to keep from losing a mind already lost.

Maybe it’s only ever been Danny and the box – the reality within the fantasy that he had once had a life beyond the box’s all-encompassing ramparts.

That there had ever been such a thing as blue sky; green grass; beaches filled with white sand; oceans of jeweled, sparkling striations of blues and greens; and a Navy SEAL, pain-in-the-ass partner, called Steve – that was fantasy.

Reality, Danny’s reality, is this small, dark metal box. There’s nothing beyond it. A nothingness that stretches on forever.

A nothingness that is suffocating, and all-consuming in its vast emptiness.

A nothingness which folds in and in and upon itself.

A nothingness that closes in on him and steals his breath, his sanity.

Time sifts. Stands still.

Sands trickle through the hourglass, and Danny shivers, even though he’s hot.

His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he’s not even sure if that’s real. That he has a tongue, or a mouth, lips, teeth, a head that aches like he’s suffering from ten thousand hangovers all at once. None of it is real.

What _is_ real is the box.

And Danny’s in the box.

Or is Danny, in reality, the box itself?

Is the box a mere figment of his imagination; like Steve, and the beach, and the sound of waves crashing while he’s trying to sleep? Or is it he who’s the figment of someone else’s imagination? Is someone else, even now, penning his slow descent into this hellish nightmare?

“ _I_ am the box,” Danny muses aloud, and he lifts his head, opens his eyes, sees nothing.

“I _am_ the box,” he repeats, and he blinks, thinks he sees something not unlike light out of the corner of his eye, but it’s fleeting and it’s gone before he has time to fully process it. He’s slow, and his head feels like it’s filled with a colony of bees – buzz, buzz, buzzing.

“Shh…” he whispers into his knees, lays his cheek on his bum knee, closes his eyes, opens them, because the oppressive darkness of the box permeates his eyelids.

The bees settle, and the buzzing tapers down to a low hum that Danny can tolerate.

“Box of bees. Bee box. Beat box. Bee, bee, buzz...” Danny mutters. His shoulders ache, and he’s certain that his back will never be the same again.

“Hunch back of Five-0.” Danny laughs. Coughs. His ribs hurt, and his throat’s dry as Hades.

He is the box.

The box is him.

They are one and the same.

“I am the box.” Danny’s lips feel like rubber, and the bees buzz like mad inside his head.

There is no sand, no sky, no ocean, no blue, no Steve.

There is only the box and Danny inside the box and the box is Danny.

“Trapped in my mind,” Danny pushes the words past dried, cracked lips, and they have no sound, except they echo, and the bees continue to buzz inside his head, inside the box. He thinks that maybe, maybe the words mean something. Maybe, if he can string them together, complete the puzzle, assign them value, they’ll make sense.

But, his mind is not the box, _he’s_ the box, and his mind is trapped within the box, and the box is of the writer’s creation.

Except, who’d be crazy enough to write something like this; to expose themselves, their inner workings –the box that holds their mind – so freely?

“I am the box.”

Danny hears the words, doesn’t feel them pass his lips. They are disembodied. Floating.

They echo in the confining space, become louder and louder, so loud that they drown out the buzzing of the bees, and his throat hurts, like he’s been screaming, but he hasn’t.

A box can’t scream.

A box can’t see blurry blues and greens and stubble-covered faces etched with worry looming over it.

A box can’t feel. Can’t feel fingers digging into its seams, pulling it apart, or arms lifting and moving and holding.

A box can’t feel lips brushing tenderly over the surface of it.

A box can’t hear – voices, a single voice, cracked and pained and pleading, _begging_ over and over again for it to: “…be okay, Danno, please.”

A box can’t move, turning to seek comfort from the fingers, the voice, the lips, the warm flesh that holds the steady heartbeat which silences the bees better than the echo of the words.

“Shh, Danno…”

A box can’t give meaning to the comingling scents of ocean brine and gunpowder. Can’t muster the image of a face to go along with the whispered words, the soothing touch of calloused palms cupping its chin, its cheeks, touching it like it’s been sorely missed.

“Danno, it’s okay, I’ve got you now.”

A box can’t give a name to its rescuer.

Steve.

Blue.

Eyes that hold the ocean and sky.

Eyes that hold Danny’s world, push him outside the box and keep him there.

“Steve?” Danny’s voice is wrecked, almost gone, but Steve smiles, rubs a thumb over Danny’s lips, and kisses him.

“I’ve got you,” Steve promises.

Reality, Danny decides, is not a relative concept.

It’s tangible.

It’s the hands on the face of a clock.

Reality is not a cliché.

It’s Steve.

It’s Steve holding him, kissing him, rocking him, bringing him back from the brink of insanity, or plunging over that narrow cliff with him, refusing to let him go, because Danny is not a box, and Steve, Steve is real.

And if all that Danny can do right now, to make it through the extended hospital stay, the recollection of events that he can’t recall – his kidnapping, the beating, the drugging, his incarceration within a lead box, and his subsequent burial for three days– is reach for Steve outside of the memory of that box which confines him when he least expects it to, then that’s what he’ll do.

Because that’s what’s real.

Steve is real.

Not the writer, not the box, not the all-encompassing darkness.


	2. The Cure for Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can't sleep, he misses Danny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different feel and perspective than the initial chapter. 
> 
> Inspired by a review left on fanfiction by densidoodle, and another left by delia cerrano. 
> 
> Further inspired Patti Smith's, "Because the Night," and the light rain that meant I had to drive to Starbucks.
> 
> I hope that this is an addition that makes sense under this particular umbrella. This features sketchy grammar, and run-on sentences of which I am well aware. I did it for effect, and hopefully did so effectively. :P
> 
> Thanks to everyone who supported the initial chapter! I am grateful, beyond words, for the lovely responses.

It's raining. A gentle, quiet shushing sound. Not unlike Danny's voice when he's soothing Grace.

Steve should be able to sleep. He likes the sound of rain -- Danny's voice, whisper soft, tickling the hairs at the back of Steve's neck -- finds it calming.

Rain's a balm which keeps his sometimes nightmares at bay -- Danny's fingers, gentle, persistent, smoothing away the tension, massaging muscles strung too taut for too long.

Steve enjoys the sound of the rain, regular and rhythmic -- Danny's heartbeat, strong, steady...there -- it fills the aching emptiness with white noise.

Steve should be able to sleep. It's raining, and he likes the sound of the way the rain hits his roof. The drumming tattoo -- Danny's voice when he's worked up about something.

It's raining and Steve opens an eye, toggles the clock function on his phone. One thirty five...an hour's passed since he last looked. It feels like a lifetime.

He tries to sleep. Tries to make good on his promise to Chin and Kono: 'At least six hours. You've been going on empty for days now, Steve, since before we found Danny. You're not going to be of any use to Danny like this.'

Closes his eyes and listens. Lets the rhythm of the rain guide that of his heart. Misses Danny so much that it's a physical pain which the rain is helpless to assuage.

Takes a deep breath, breathes in the scent of the rain, earthy and electric. Gets a lungful of air, breathes it out, takes another breath, and it's Danny -- spicy, sweet cinnamon and sugar, a kick of coffee, pungent and aromatic -- that he smells.

Sighing, Steve rolls over and eyes the small bottle of pills on his nightstand. Sleep aids the doctor prescribed: 'Just in case. Sometimes, when a person's been up for days, worried about a loved one, it can be difficult to sleep.'

His head hurts, and it's one forty two. He's been away from the hospital, Danny, for over two hours now.

When he'd left, Danny'd been asleep, thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, medications which helped shut off the fear and pain and made it possible for Danny's body and mind to rest. Chin, or Kono, would call him if there was any change in his partner's status. If Danny woke screaming and pushing against walls that no longer existed -- Steve had torn that box apart at the seams, sent it to a scrap metal yard, and watched as it was rendered useless -- they'd call, and Steve would be able to end this exile.

He reaches for the bottle. It's brown and smooth, almost slips from his fingers. The white label has his name on it in print too small to read. Cautions, dosage, and possible side-effects.

He remembers the doctor explaining all of that to him, but, when he tries to recall the specifics -- one or two pills, with or without food -- his mind is blank. The print's too small, impossible to read by the light of his cellphone, with eyes gritty from lack of sleep.

At first, when Danny'd been taken, Steve hadn't slept because he'd had to look for his partner. Chin, Kono, Catherine, the others on their task force, hadn't gotten much sleep either.

When he'd come home, after a long day of no results, searching empty leads, he'd try to sleep. Reasoning that he needed a sound, rested mind to do his best work, to find Danny. But sleep wouldn't come, and he'd spend hours tossing and turning, ending up on Danny's side of the bed, or clutching Danny's pillow tight, and whispering promises that he feared he wouldn't be able to keep.

Finally, he'd given up on sleep altogether. Spent every hour chasing down, or looking for leads until he'd found Danny and dug him out of the pit he'd been buried in.

Though Danny's safe now, ensconced in a hospital bed, surrounded by competent medical staff and officers charged with his safety, Steve still can't sleep. His eyes are gritty, and the tiny words on the white label of the bottle holding his sleeping pills run together and blur. He swipes at his eyes, wipes the wetness that gathers on the back of his hand away on the bedsheets.

He fingers the cap, twists it. It's stubborn and Steve wishes that could turn the bottle over to Danny, because he's good at working things loose.

Steve sits up, pushes the top of the bottle down, and twists, the way he's seen Danny do countless times before. He pushes and twists again, and the cap remains steadfast. He tries again, and the cap shifts, gets stuck, lopsided, in one of the tracks.

Cursing, heart racing faster than the steady rain (thank god they found Danny before these rains started) that's hammering on the roof, Steve slams the lip of the bottle on the edge of the table, hoping that it will spring the cap loose. It does, sends the white pills scattering to the floor, some of them pinging off the walls first.

Steve barks out a harsh, anguished laugh, tosses the bottle across the room, and drags a hand down his face.

"Fuck it," he says.

He can't sleep, rain and little white pills be damned. He gets up, tugs on a fresh pair of cargos and a tee-shirt. He's showered, shaved -- hopefully that'll be enough to keep Chin and Kono off his back for now.

Steve gets in his truck, puts the key in the ignition, turns it. He blinks, and finds himself in front of the hospital, keys dangling from his fingers.

He staggers through the doors like a drunk man, ignores everyone as he makes his way to Danny's floor, his private room.

Shoots off a sloppy salute to the officers guarding Danny's door, nods when their lips move forming words he can't hear, tries to smile, but it feels twisted and his lips seem to be someone else's, and he just wants to see Danny, assure himself that his partner's safe, alive, not buried.

He slips into Danny's room, nods at Chin, acknowledges Kono, ignores their chastisement, the bills that pass from Chin's hand to Kono's.

The rain is pounding on the window beside Danny's bed, slanting sideways, and Steve shivers, realizing, belatedly, that he's wet, and that he's not wearing shoes. He wipes at the wetness on his face, lets Kono towel at his hair, and he moves to Danny's bed, his feet moving as though compelled. **  
**

"Steve, he's sleeping," Chin says. His voice is a ghost at Steve's back.

"Like you should be, boss," Kono says. Her voice is light, but sharp. "Didn't we send you home?"

"Couldn't sleep," Steve says, his voice sounds rough in his own ears.

He touches Danny's cheek. It's warm, and Danny turns toward the touch, mumbles something that isn't exactly words. Steve's just happy that Danny's not claiming to be a box -- a result of his long confinement. He can feel a smile tugging at his lips, and Steve brushes his lips over Danny's.

He pulls the towel Kono drapes over his shoulders close around himself, and, mindful of the various leads attached to Danny, he climbs up onto the bed, lays down beside Danny, breathes in the much too antiseptic smells associated with hospitals, and sighs in relief when he can smell Danny beneath all of that. It's faint, barely there, but Steve latches onto it, turns toward Danny and closes his eyes.

Danny's warm, his heartbeat steady and strong. The sound of the rain, beating against the window is a nice backdrop, and Steve closes his eyes, falls asleep to the sound of muffled laughter.

He's not sure if he hears Kono voice the words, or if the words are in his head. "Looks like Danny's Steve's cure for insomnia."

He has to agree.


	3. Tangled up in You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve needs to be near Danny, and Danny doesn't understand. Chin and Kono help him understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was done, but the song, "Tangled up in You," by Staind, triggered this. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the wonderful feedback for the second installment. 
> 
> I thought that this story arc would be done with this particular addition, but there might be one more chapter coming.

Danny's Steve's truth. The only person who keeps him real, grounds him in the here and now.

Without Danny, he'd be lost. A ship without a rudder, lost at sea, being tossed about by the wind and the waves.

Steve caresses Danny's face, fingertips gentle and hovering, mindful of bruises, the four stitches that were necessary to close the cut on Danny's chin. Put there by the men who'd abducted him, or Danny himself when he'd panicked and struggled in his small -- barely large enough for a full grown man -- prison made of steel.

Danny's brow furrows and he shifts on the hospital bed beside Steve, waking. Steve's breath hitches, and he holds it, waits for Danny to open his eyes, fearful that Danny will forget that he's no longer trapped in the box. 

Steve's got his legs twined with the sheets, with Danny's, the fingers of his left hand splayed across Danny's chest, those of his right, stilled and poised above Danny's cheek. He's tense, uncertain, dimly aware that Chin and Kono have left to grab something to eat, and that he's alone with Danny for the first time since he'd unburied the man. 

"Danno," Steve whispers, hopes that, maybe, if Danny hears his voice before he manages to open his eyes, he won't wake terrified, scrabbling at the sheets, the IVs and leads he's still hooked up to, even a week later.

The doctors don't make Steve leave when they discover that he's been sleeping beside Danny. They don't say anything, just smile grimly, and work around him. It's the closest thing to peace that Steve can reach right now -- listening to Danny breathe, his heart beat, and sharing Danny's warmth which borders on the sticky heat of infection, but is kept at bay by antibiotics.

He has no words, no ability, or strength to do anything, except watch and wait and pray for Danny to get better. For Danny to get out of that fucking box, because he's still trapped inside of it every time he wakes, and it takes long, painful minutes that sometimes border on hours for Danny to realize that he's free of it. Hours where Steve's throat grows dry and aches, and sometimes stops working altogether from overuse as he strives to assure Danny that he's safe.

The box wreaked of blood, sweat, feces...fear,  and sometimes Steve starts awake with the memory of that stench in his nostrils. Cloying. Bile chokes and burns him as he works to free himself from the horrid memories. He holds onto Danny, remembers that he got to Danny in time, though not quick enough to save either of them from the nightmares.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is scratchy, wrecked from all of the screaming he'd done while trapped, and since he'd been found.

Steve lets out the breath that he'd been holding, shoves aside the images of Danny when they'd first found him, and forces himself to relax.

"Yeah, it's me," Steve assures him, hopes Danny will open his eyes and not see darkness, that he'll see Steve instead.

"What're you doing here?" Danny's eyes are still closed, and his voice is slurred from the drug induced sleep. Yesterday had been bad. 

Steve tries not to be disappointed that Danny might not wake just yet, forces himself to smile. "Where else would I be?" 

He lets his fingers touch, and trace an old scar near Danny's mouth. Danny said he'd gotten it during a baseball game, something about eating dirt while diving into home base. Kisses the old scar, and pictures a much younger, more carefree Danny. A Danny Steve will never meet.

"At home, sleeping, doing whatever it is you Army boys do when you've got time off," Danny's voice is teasing, and Steve dares himself to look, sees bright, blue eyes open and watching. 

He can't keep the foolish grin off his face, falls easily into their normal routine, though there's nothing normal about any of this. Answers, "Navy, Danno," sighs, and hoists himself up on an elbow so he can get a good look at Danny.

His partner's got an eyebrow raised, and his lips curled in a half smile/smirk which tells Steve that Danny's more with it than he's been since this whole ordeal began. 

"And, in the Navy, soldiers share narrow, uncomfortable beds when there are much more comfortable alternatives available?" Danny snorts, and other than the roughness of his voice, he sounds like his old self.

Steve's heart catches in his throat, and tears gather and threaten to fall, because this is what he's been waiting for. What the doctors had promised would happen over time. Knows that there'll be setbacks, that Danny will wake to darkness, walls pressing in on him, many more times, but he'll take this momentary reprieve, this moment free of boxes and fear and wrongness.

Steve will take it and run with it, because it's Danny and he's missed Danny. Missed his partner's sharp wit, the easy banter, the knowing smiles...

"Go home, Steven," Danny's voice is soft, affectionate, filled with emotion that hits Steve like a fist. "You don't have to babysit me, babe. Go home, rest, visit me like normal people."

Steve presses his fingers against Danny's chest, digs his toes into Danny's calf, as though anchoring himself. He feels weightless, mouth dry, and Danny's face pinches, he reaches up, cups Steve's cheek, rubs his thumb beneath Steve's eye.

"Babe? What's wrong?" Danny's voice is distant as Steve's head spins with Danny's dismissal.

Steve shudders, kisses Danny in lieu of answering, because he can't. He has no words. Doesn't want this to end. Doesn't want to lose Danny to another waking nightmare.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles Steve, and he ends their kiss abruptly, Danny pouting and following Steve's mouth in an attempt to recapture it. 

"Uh, we can come back if you're busy, bosses," Kono says, the hint of a suppressed giggle in her voice.

"No." Steve coughs, ignores the glare that Danny shoots at him, as well as the dramatic sigh that Danny makes as he loosens his grip on Steve and settles back on his pillow. "It's alright. We were...uh..." 

"Getting reacquainted?" Chin supplies, and he busies himself with setting out their meal.

"Actually, I was trying to convince super SEAL here, that he could go home and sleep in his own, more comfortable bed," Danny says.  His voice much stronger than it had been earlier. "You bring something actually palatable for me to eat?" 

Danny struggles to lift his head, Steve adjusts the bed so his partner can see what Chin and Kono brought -- Chinese carryout. He sniffs the air, looking every bit like a starved rabbit, about ready to strike an unwary foe.

"We'll check with the --" Kono begins, heading for the door.

Danny cuts her off. "Uh-uh, you are not checking with a doctor. I'm a grown man. If I want to eat greasy Chinese food from boxes, I will."

Kono shakes her head, but returns to the room, sits across from her cousin and helps dish up the food.  Danny eats half of his food, gives his plate to Steve to finish up, and it's almost like normal. 

Steve gets up to wash up, because the cousins are here, and he thinks that maybe Danny could use some time alone with them. He showers, takes his time, and as he's ready to return, he pauses at the door, listens, his heart in his throat as Danny tries to pawn him off on Kono.

"C'mon, one of you be a good friend and take Steve home so he can actually get some rest. In a real bed. Away from me, and all of this..." Danny waves a hand expansively. 

"Danny." Chin holds his hand up when Danny opens his mouth. Danny shuts it, and pouts, but he listens. "Look, I understand that you want to protect Steve, but brah, Steve won't sleep unless he's here, with you. If you think he looks tired now, you should've seen him a couple of days ago." Chin shivers, and Danny frowns. 

"Danny, trust me, this is where Steve needs to be. At least for now." Chin's voice is soft and filled with understanding, he glances over at Steve, and winks at the much chagrined eavesdropper as he leaves.

Danny nods, settles back in bed, plays with the edge of his sheet as Steve nears.

"I'm sorry... I didn't realize," Danny's voice is quiet. 

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Steve assures him, gets comfortable on the bed beside Danny, can't wait until they can both return home, to good, restful sleep not monitored by doctors or machines. Sleep not broken by nightmares.

"You don't have to stay," Danny says. "I'll be okay."

"Yeah, maybe." Steve kisses the scar at the corner of Danny's mouth, smiles when Danny's breath hitches in response. "But I won't."

 


	4. Fear and Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny sees a shrink, tries to deal with his irrational hatred and fear, his desire to push Steve away, even as he fears that Steve is going to leave him. His life is a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me by surprise, which fits the inspiration for this particular chapter - Maria Mena's, "It Took Me By Surprise."
> 
> Not sure how this one turned out. I'm a bit exhausted at the moment. Thanks to those who've been reading, and supporting through the comments and the kudos. Very, very appreciated and uplifting. 
> 
> Thank you!

["It Took Me By Surprise," Maria Mena](http://youtu.be/2FTU84vJYD4)

Fear is a funny thing. 

Danny's dealt with it countless times before.

Back when he was a detective in Jersey. 

Back when he and Rachel had first discussed divorce. 

Anytime Grace was in danger.

Whenever Steve put himself between the bad guy of the hour and others (which was much too often as far as Danny was concerned). 

But this fear is different. It's all-consuming.

It occupies his dreams; his waking thoughts. He lives and breathes it. Eats it for breakfast.

It claws at his insides.

And he hates it.

Hates that he's been reduced to sleeping with a fucking night light on. Something he hasn't had to do since he was a toddler.

Steve doesn't complain. Doesn't lose patience with Danny, or roll his eyes at the absurdity of it all -- a grown man needing the comfort of a nightlight to keep the boogeyman away.

Steve is a rock. Immovable no matter how far or hard Danny pushes him. No matter what Danny says or does to get Steve to move, to leave him, Steve stays. 

It's maddening and Danny doesn't get it. Doesn't understand how Steve can take all of the crap that he's throwing at him and not react. How Steve can be so calm, accepting, in the face of all of the vitriol that Danny's throwing at him.

He's acid, and Steve just doesn't seem to get it. The man has no sense of self-preservation. Won't kick Danny out, send him away, no matter what Danny does or says, no matter how many times he wakes up in that box -- terrified, alone, and lost in the dark, limbs twisted and aching because he's convinced that he never got out.

It takes minutes, sometimes hours, for Danny to 'snap' out of it. Steve's voice is hoarse and almost gone, and he walks around like a zombie for the rest of the day -- exhaustion bruising his eyes.

And Danny hates it.

Hates Steve. Hates the fact that Steve can't be pushed away.

Hates himself.

Hates the box. And the dark. And the fucking night light that keeps that darkness away night after night.

Hates. Hates. Hates.

"Danny, tell me what's going on in your head. You seem to have disappeared for awhile there. Can you tell me what you were thinking about? Were you back in the box?" The shrink surges forward, thoughtful look on his face, brows furrowed with concern, lips pursed. He pushes the issue, forces Danny to look up from his hands -- nails digging crescents into his palms, knuckles white and cracked because Danny's always washing them, forgets the lotion that Kono left for him to use.

Danny shakes his head. Hates this. Hates being useless because he can't get over what happened to him. Hates that, most mornings he wakes up inside of the box and Steve has to get him out of it over and over again.

Hates that, a month and a half later, he's still afraid, wondering if, even when he's awake, he's still in the box. Hates that there's still a part of him which thinks everything he's experiencing is a dream -- Steve's hands, his voice, the feel of his lips when they kiss.

"Danny--"

"I hate this," Danny hisses, pinches the skin on his left wrist. It's pink, swollen, because that's how Danny knows that he's awake and not dreaming. It stings, lets him know that he's awake. The box, that's not real. Not anymore.

"What do you hate?" The shrink's elbows are on his knees, and he's got an earnest look on his face. 

A look that shows he's listening, not judging. A look that Steve often wears nowadays. A look Danny's really beginning to hate, because it's new. 

It's post box.

A post box look that means Steve's no longer the same Steve he was before the box, and if Steve's no longer the same, then neither is Danny. And if he's not the same, and Steve's not the same, then it stands to reason that 'they're' not the same. And if they're not the same, then they're just going through the motions. And if they're just going through the motions -- Steve holding him together -- then...

"Danny, should I bring your partner in?" Concern, head tilted to the side, slight frown.

Danny shakes his head, pinches his wrist and it still hurts so he's awake. "No. I...I don't want Steve. I, he shouldn't have to..."

"Danny, it's okay." The shrink lays a hand on Danny's, stops him before he can pinch himself again. "There's no shame in needing someone."

"I hate this," Danny's voice is hoarse, his throat feels clogged. He clenches his fists, ignores the heat behind his eyes, the way it itches and makes his eyes burn. 

"What do you hate, Danny?" Interest, voice soft and hopeful. Like Steve's when he's asking Danny to tell him about a nightmare after he wakes screaming, tangled up in sheets, in Steve. And Steve's always there. Always, except for when he needed him most, when he was locked in a box, losing his mind. And he's still losing his mind. Still locked in that box.

"I hate this," Danny repeats, and he pulls at his hair, because he can't articulate what it is that he hates. 

Can't, won't say that he hates himself. That he hates Steve. Hates that Steve snuck into his hospital room so that he could be near Danny and comfort him; that Steve is there every time Danny wakes up from nightmare; that Steve's so goddamn supportive and understanding and loving. That Steve didn't get to him sooner.

Won't say it because it's not fair. It's not fair and it's not rational. 

Steve didn't put him in that box. 

Didn't leave him there to lose his mind and rot.

"Danny, it's okay," the shrink says.

Danny laughs, swipes at a tear and shakes his head. "No, it's not. It's not okay. What kind of man hates the person who saved his life?" 

Danny searches the shrink's eyes, the man's face. There are no answers there. Nothing that Danny can find comfort in. No help in the man's soft, crinkly eyes, because Danny's expected to find the answers himself. He's expected to talk it through, to see, for himself, that he's safe, that he's okay now, that he's out of the box and alive and that he can move on with his life, that he can trust Steve again.

"Ah." The shrink gives him a tight, sad smile, nods, shifts back in his seat, scratches something on the yellow legal pad he uses to take notes on instead of an iPad. 

"I see. Have you talked to your partner about this? It's perfectly normal, to be angry after what you've been through." He's got a thoughtful look on his face, his smile's less sad. "I'm sure that if you explain to your partner how you feel, he'll be supportive."

Danny makes a sound that's a cross between laughter and a growl, and he stands, paces, because he's feeling trapped and the door's closed, and he hates this. Hates the smug, knowing look on the shrink's face, the way his pencil scritches at the yellow notepad as he takes notes, but doesn't fix anything.

"I don't want his support," Danny snarls, he casts a look at the shrink, and scowls at the man's calm facade.

Danny takes a step toward the window. It's cloudy, there're no trade winds, so it's warm and sticky outside, uncomfortable. He drags a hand through his hair, and pictures Steve before the box. Just after his morning swim in the ocean, the wet clinging to his muscles, cascading down the planes of his body. 

Danny misses that. 

Misses early morning kisses, waking to the scent of coffee, and, if Steve's in a generous mood, hot malasadas sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Misses what used to pass for normal between them. Misses it like he once used to miss Rachel when they'd first split up, except it's worse, because he and Steve haven't split up, and he loves Steve more than he loves himself. 

It's a terrifying thought, because it means that he's got to do whatever it takes to cut himself -- a festering canker sore -- out of Steve's life before it ruins him. It's no life for Steve, taking care of a broken man.

Danny sighs, watches a bird land on the tree limb directly across from him. He crosses his arms over his chest, rests his forehead on the windowpane. "I want things to go back to the way they were before the box. I want to be able to sleep without a nightlight, to wake up without fear clawing at my throat. I want to go back to work. I want Steve to let me..." Danny closes his eyes. His reflection in the window isn't complete. He looks like a ghost -- pale, cheeks hollowed, dark circles under his eyes.

"To let you what, Danny?" the shrink prompts when the silence borders on uncomfortable. His voice is soft, unobtrusive.

Danny can feel the man at his back, and he wishes that it was Steve instead. Wishes that he didn't hate Steve for being everything that he needs right now. Hates himself for needing Steve to be everything for him now, that he can't stand on his own two feet.

"Tell him how you feel, Danny." By the shrink's tone of voice, Danny can tell they're toward the end of his session. He'd feel better if he'd accomplished something. "I think you'll be surprised."

Danny nods, pushes away from the window and wipes at his face. He plasters on a smile, because he doesn't want to face Steve with all of this crap. Steve has enough on his plate, Danny doesn't need to add his misplaced anger and blame to that. Doesn't need to weigh Steve down with even more guilt.

"Thanks, doc." He shakes the shrink's hand, ignores the disappointed look the man shoots at him because he knows that Danny isn't going to talk to Steve. "See you next week."

"Very funny, detective," the shrink says drily. "See you Friday." He raises an eyebrow when Danny sighs dramatically and hangs his head.

"Friday it is, doc," Danny hopes he doesn't sound as depressed as he feels. 

"It won't always be like this, Danny," the shrink says. "Before you know it, you'll be down to one session a week, a month, and then as needed."

Danny nods at the projected plan. It's not anything that he hasn't heard before. He just wishes that he could've made some progress during this session, that he could fast forward to the end, to the part where he's whole. Where he no longer hates Steve. No longer hates himself. No longer feels like he's still living inside of a box.

Danny steps out of the room, takes a deep breath, and smiles when Steve looks up from the magazine -- "Guns & Ammo" -- that he'd been reading. He blinks up at Danny, gives him a slow, genuine smile, and unfolds himself from the ridiculously small, uncomfortable-looking chair that he'd waited for Danny in.

Steve slings an arm over Danny's shoulders. "How'd it go?" 

Danny shrugs, fights the urge to push Steve away as they leave the clinic and head for home. 

"Got my head shrunk," Danny says, knows he's not being fair to Steve, that he sounds sulky and crabby, 'angry'. 

"Wanna go get some dinner?" Steve asks, his voice gives no indication that he finds Danny's foul mood to be anything out of the ordinary.

"I want to go home," Danny says. It's safe, less chance of him having a panic attack that'll embarrass him or Steve. "You can go out to dinner. Get together with Kono and Chin; Catherine."

Steve frowns at him. "We could have a barbecue, invite the team over --"

"Steve, you're not hearing me," Danny says, his voice low and tight. "I want to be alone. I..." 

He can't do this. Steve's brows are furrowed and he's got a kicked puppy look on his face. He nods, grips the wheel tightly and takes the next turn far too quickly.

"You want to be alone?" Steve's voice is hard, hurt.

"Steve, I..." Danny runs a hand through his hair, hates that he doesn't know what it is that he wants. He wants to be alone, but he doesn't want Steve to leave, doesn't want Steve to decide that taking care of Danny is too much work and send him packing. 

"I need..."

Steve pulls off to the side of the road, tires squealing. He turns and faces Danny, an unreadable look on his face.

Danny's heart races, and yet, for the first time since he'd gotten out of the box, his head feels clear. He knows this. Knows what's going to happen, before Steve opens his mouth. Knows that this is it. And he hates Steve. Hates himself for pushing Steve toward this. Pushing the man he loves to break up with him, call their engagement off.

"Danny, let's talk," Steve says, and, okay, those aren't the words Danny was expecting to hear, and he pinches his wrist. Steve catches his hand, places his hand over Danny's wrist, and Danny wants to punch him in the face.

"I can't breathe," Danny says, panting. "You're always there, every time I turn around, Steven, and I can't breathe. I sleep with a nightlight on, and you don't take your morning swims anymore. I hate this, I hate what we've become, what I've done to you. That I can't go to a restaurant without having a panic attack, that I can't even trust myself alone with my little girl, because I might have a flashback." By the time he's finished, he's shouting, arms flailing in the small space, and it feels like he's hyperventilating, like his stomach is filled with knives.

"I'm sorry, Danny." Steve looks out of the window, past Danny. "I didn't mean to smother you. I guess... I'm just not sure what to do. I love you, and, when I thought that I had lost you, Danny, I almost lost my mind." His voice cracks, and Danny doesn't know what to say. Didn't know that Steve felt that way, though he should have known.

"No, I'm sorry," Danny says, cups Steve's face in his hand. "I...my feelings are... Steve, I don't want to lose you, but I don't... I can't watch you give up your life for me. I'm broken, you don't need to be broken too."

Steve barks out a harsh laugh, and he pulls away from Danny, crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at Danny with a look that makes Danny squirm in his seat. 

"Danny, you're not broken. I'm supposed to just give up on you because you're going through a rough patch right now?" Steve's voice is filled with venom, the vein in his neck popping out. He holds up a hand to forestall Danny's retort when Danny opens his mouth, predicting what Danny's going to say before he's got a chance to say it. 

"I know, rough patch is a poor choice of words. I know that none of this is easy for you, but please stop trying to push me out of your life. Danny, I'm not going anywhere. I promise you." Steve's voice is thick with emotion, his eyes shiny.

"Why?" Danny's voice, words, fail him completely. He blinks at Steve, his earlier hatred of the man, gone now that he's facing him and talking, seeing the love reflected on Steve's face. It's raw, almost painful, and Danny feels ashamed.

"I love you Danny. For better, for worse," Steve recites. "In sickness and in health."

"We're not married yet." Danny's lips feel numb, his chest tight, and he's lightheaded. 

"Maybe not on paper, but in all the ways that matter. Danny, I want you. I need you. If you need space, I'll give you some, but--"

Danny cuts Steve off with a kiss, shoves aside everything that wants to get in the way of this. Blocks out the anger, the terror, the dark images that threaten to overwhelm him. Focuses on Steve. The way his hands sneak up beneath Danny's tee-shirt; rough, callused thumbs rubbing and stroking, eliciting feelings that Danny didn't remember he had.

Fear is a funny thing. If you let it, it'll rob you of everything that matters most in life -- passionate kisses at the side of the road with the person you love most in this world and the best thing that's ever happened to you. 

Danny doesn't want to lose this.

Doesn't want to lose Steve.

Doesn't want to let the fear win.

So, he concentrates on the kiss, on Steve, on one day getting better, and leaving the box behind for good.

"I love you," Danny says, takes a deep breath, rests his forehead against Steve's. "You big goof."

"I know." Steve's voice is smug, and Danny smacks him on the arm.

As Steve gets the car moving, heading home, Danny feels like a weight's been lifted from his chest. He knows he's still a long way from 'as needed' sessions with his shrink, but he's determined not to cut Steve out of the process, to let his partner help him through this.


	5. Leaving Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny believes that what he's going to do is what's best for Steve. Someone shows him that it's really what's best for himself right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sure how I feel about this addition to the story, but I wrote it anyway. I thought I was done with this arc, but apparently this part of the story wasn't done being told. It could be complete and utter rubbish...

_The inspiration for this:_ “There's a difference between saying goodbye and letting go. Saying goodbye is "I'll see you again when I'm ready to hold your hand, and when you're ready to hold mine." Letting go is "I'll miss your hand. But I realized it's not mine to hold, and I will never hold it again.”   ― Unknown

* * *

Danny's letting go, because he knows it's what's best for Steve. 

Steve won't give up -- he doesn't know how, but Danny does. Knows well the act of leaving, having been left.

He packs while Steve is out for a swim and a run -- will miss the act of running his hands over Steve's body, washing away the sweat and salt. Gathers only those things which are his, not the things they've shared -- that would be too hard.

There's a job waiting for him in Jersey. It's not ideal -- desk job until he's cleared. 

His sister's offered him a home, temporary because they've got four kids and the basement isn't exactly meant to be a living space, but it'll do for short term quarters. She hadn't asked any questions, knew Danny wouldn't have answers.

His flight leaves at ten, he'll leave the spare keys to his car for Steve, along with a note. His hand trembles, stomach twists, heart aches, but he knows this is best for Steve. That, with time, the man will come to see that Danny did him a favor, and he'll move on. 

Maybe he'll go back to Catherine. Danny always liked her. Felt she'd been given a raw deal. Steve and Catherine will make a good couple. They're both pretty, powerful. Both of a military mindset.

Danny forces himself to think about what awaits him, rather than what he's leaving behind, how it feels like he's leaving the best part of him, not a house, not Steve after a swim. 

It's funny, how big a part of his life Steve has become. How, when Danny breathes, it's the scent of gunpowder and the ocean that he smells. It's Steve's scent. 

And Steve has become bigger than life. Bigger than Danny. Bigger than love. Because love now has a name, and it's Steven J. McGarrett.

Blinded by tears, by the picture of Steve's fallen face when he reads Danny's note, Danny signals his turn-off. Takes the ramp to parking, and stuffs the keys into the glove compartment. Barks out a laugh when he spies the hidden grenade, wipes at the tears and girds himself for the long trip home.

His heart is a warning tattoo -- natives beating their handmade drums, the echoes reverberating in his blood. 'Don't do this, go back,' they seem to say.

Danny ignores them, checks his suitcase and scans his ticket at the kiosk. 'Who knew phones could be so useful?'

He goes through the various checkpoints without incidence, and his heart lightens, because surely that's a sign that he's doing the right thing for Steve. Danny's own feelings don't matter. 

He'll ask Rachel for a month of summer with Grace, every other holiday. They'll work it out. As he is right now -- confronting demons daily -- he's not a good father. An even worse lover -- he and Steve haven't made love since the box. Danny doesn't like to feel trapped, being held down, confined. How the fuck is he going to handle a plane?

He's got hours to wait. Coffee and a doughnut he takes two bites of before tossing. His stomach is an acid bath, and he can't get the image of all-consuming darkness out of his mind, of the plane folding in on itself and becoming his tomb.

"Should'a bought a kayak," Danny mutters to himself, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and stares out at the runway, the cloudy sky framed by palm trees he'll never see again.

"Nervous flyer?" the woman sitting next to him asks. She hands him a Tictac, smiles and pops one into her own mouth.

"Me too," she admits, nudges Danny's shoulder with her own. 

She's someone's grandmother. Cheeks and forehead burnt from too much time spent out in the Hawaiian sun. Wide smile wreathed with wrinkles, eyes the color of watered down coffee, and white hair that she's put up in a loose braid, bits and pieces escaping here and there. 

"I'd feel better if I was at the helm, if you know what I mean." The woman laughs, winks at him, pats him on the arm.

Danny smiles, breathes a little easier, loosens his death-grip on the chair. He nods. "I know what you mean."

"It'd be so much easier if we could all be like Samantha in 'Bewitched'. Just snap our fingers and we're home. Just like that." She leans over, snaps her fingers in Danny's face, and seems to realize that what she's done isn't exactly polite, because she gives Danny an apologetic smile. 

"Course, if Frank, he's my dead husband, it's been six months now, I was out here visiting the grandkids, my boy, Billy and his wife...if Frank was here, he'd be telling jokes to get my mind off of the flight home. He'd say, 'Edith, there's nothing to worry about. The pilot knows what he's doing.'" The woman's eyes are shining with  tears and all Danny can think of is how much he already misses Steve, how it feels like he's missing a limb -- one of those ghost pains he's heard that people sometimes get when they lose an arm or a leg. Except the pain's in his heart -- a Steve-shaped chunk is missing, and this is what it feels like to die.

"You okay, honey?" Edith's voice is an echoing tunnel, distorted sounds that don't make sense. 

He nods, feels like he's choking on air, a fish drowning on land. He can't do this. Can't. He's too weak. Too afraid. Too cowardly to leave Steve -- half his heart -- behind.

"Just take a deep breath, it'll be okay," Edith says.

She's patting his arm, and Danny can envision her grandchildren taking advantage, and her not minding one bit. 

"It'll be okay."

But it won't.

It won't be okay unless he gets on that plane, leaves the past, Steve, behind. It won't be okay if he chickens out, doesn't give Steve a chance to see what life could be like without him -- the man had slept beside him on the hospital bed, couldn't sleep without Danny, and that's too much to ask of anyone. 

It's too much.

Too much for Danny to expect, for him to want, for him to take without giving anything else in return. And right now, there's nothing that Danny can give Steve except for this -- letting go.

Edith pats his back, offers him another Tictac, and boldly natters on, her voice a steady, calming influence as Danny gets his breathing, his racing heart, and thoughts, under control. Locking them up in a box, not unlike the one Steve had found him in.

"Thank you, Edith," Danny says, squeezes her hand. 

She blushes and waves off his thanks. "No need to thank an old lady for talking your ear off."

It's so much more than that, and they both know it, but Danny doesn't call her in it, and is grateful that she doesn't ask him any questions, though he knows she's dying to. "You heading to Jersey, too?" Danny asks.

Edith nods. "Claire, one of my good friends, is meeting me at the airport. It'll be nice to be home. It was nice seeing Bill and the grandkids, but you know what they say..."

"There's no place like home," Danny finishes quietly.

His heart is inexplicably heavy, because he realizes, in that moment, like he's been struck with lightning, that he's never coming home again. That Jersey is no longer home. Hasn't been for a long time. Not even Grace alone -- much as he loves her and would willingly sacrifice his life for her should it come down to that -- is home for him. 

It's Steve, and the wide expanse of ocean that Danny hates. It's Steve, and that stupid, goofy grin of his. Aneurism face. Overprotective Neanderthal. Steve is home. And once he's on that plane, Danny will never be able to go back. 

'You can never go home again.' Up until this very moment, Danny had never understood that saying, hadn't understood the gravitas of it. Hadn't known how much it would hurt to know the truth of those words. 

Edith sighs. "I miss Frank."

"I'm sorry." Danny doesn't know what else to say. He misses Steve, but he's doing the unselfish thing. Doing what's best for the other man, whether Steve knows it or not.

"I think part of why Billy invited me to stay, is because he didn't want me to be lonely." Edith's got a faraway look in her eyes, and she hugs herself. "I've been lonely after Frank. We were together fifty-five years. Problem is, no place seems like home without him. You know what I mean?"

Danny swallows, his heart thunders, he nods.

Edith smiles, shakes her head, pats Danny's hand. "'Course a young, handsome devil like yourself doesn't know what I mean. I bet you got someone picking you up from the airport."

Danny makes a choking sound, tries not to let loose the tears that threaten to fall. He does have someone picking him up from the airport, his sister, Martha. 

"Oh, honey," Edith pulls him close, and the dam is loosed all over the front of Edith's colorful muumuu. 

"Here I am blethering on about nonsense when you're heart's broken." Edith shushes him, pats and rubs his back as she rocks him. She's a wonderful grandmother.

"How long has it been?" Edith asks, once the tears dry up, and Danny's blown his nose on the tissues she'd supplied from her stash.

Danny feels foolish, relived. The tears having worked as a balm, the way his shrink said that they would. They help him see things a little clearer.

Danny shakes his head. How can he explain this to Edith who'd lost the love of her life to death?

"I can't make him go through this," Danny says.

"Go through what, honey?" Edith's voice is soft and coaxing.

"I'm a mess," Danny says with a broken laugh. "I'm a mess, and Steve deserves better, so I'm --"

"Leaving to spare him the pain of helping you through this mess?" Edith's voice is filled with understanding, and she gives Danny a knowing look. 

Danny shrugs and nods. "It's what's best for him."

"What about what's best for you?" Edith asks. "Frank thought he was going to do the same thing for me when he came back from the war, broken in body and spirit. Thought that leaving me was the best thing for me. Those were the hardest three months of my life. The never knowing if he was coming back. Harder even than losing him to a heart attack."

Edith gives him a sharp look, jabs a finger in his direction. "You might think that what you're doing is for your man, but, honey, it's what's best for you, and there ain't no shame in that." 

Edith squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with tears. "Leave, get your head on straight, and go back to him, but don't leave that man in the dark. Don't leave him hanging and wondering. Don't leave him without hope."

Danny nods, his heart a little lighter than it's been for days since he'd come to this decision. "I will."

"I know you will." Edith sounds more assured than Danny feels. "You two are meant to be. I can tell. Don't ask me how, I just now." She taps her temple and her heart.

When it's time to board the plane, Danny feels a little less like he's marching to his death. When he lands, he'll call Steve. He's not letting go, he's just saying goodbye for a little while, and it might not be what Steve needs, but it's what he needs. For now.

 


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve recalls a time when Danny was happy. A stolen moment that wasn't his, but which he clings to while Danny's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sclaimer: see initial chapter.
> 
> Inspired by the Book and Music Festival in Honolulu. There was a musician playing guitar music. I believe he called what he was playing, "Makenna". My friend's mother-in-law said, " You can't win for losing." And then I wrote. This is an interlude. I'm working on a longer chapter which will hopefully help move this arc and bring it to a conclusion.

Steve remembers a time: Danny sitting an arm's reach from the ocean, toes buried in the sand, wind whipping his hair. He had a smile on his face, and it was meant for no one, not even Steve.

It was a look of pure, utter bliss. The look of a man in love.

It was a look Steve had captured within the blink of an eye, a stolen moment in time.

Something he can look back on now and recall with fond remembrance, and believe that it was he who'd put that smile there. An ache of longing in his heart that he swiftly pushes aside in favor of focusing on what is, because Danny's gone, and he was never meant to see that smile in the first place.

Maybe that's what did it, what pushed Danny over the edge, sent him well outside of the ocean's reach, out of the reach of Steve's arms.

But that day, Danny's toes had been buried so deep within the wet sand that it was a wonder he could dig them out. The wind had caressed his face, lifting tendrils of hair off his forehead, like a long, lost lover, eager to kiss and fuck. And the ocean had kept its distance, letting Danny simply be.

Steve remembers, and he holds onto that stolen smile, lets it sink into his heart, and remind him that, once upon a time, he'd been a man in love with a man who had loved him back. Lets hope stir in his chest that, one day, his love will return to him, and that this time, the ocean won't keep its distance.


	7. Just a Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Five-0 faces a new, daunting case, Steve tries to move on, but it's hard to when everything reminds him of Danny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this one for awhile, not sure if I was getting things just right. It seems to want to stop here, and another scene wishes to be written, so I have decided not to push this into something more. 
> 
> I am grateful for those who've let me know that they are enjoying this story; I hope that this chapter, though it is a bit different, does not disappoint. 
> 
> Mahalo

"Chin, you got a location on Kaheo Silva yet?" Steve reaches into his pocket, pulls a folded slip of paper out, fingers it, smooths a tattered edge and takes a breath. He places the paper back into his pocket, and rolls his shoulders, faces Chin with a look he hopes shows nothing of what he feels.

"Almost, just waiting on the results," Chin says, and he reaches over, pats him on the back. "You could call him, you know." This last part is whispered, and Steve ignores it, pulls out of Chin’s reach.

Steve clenches his jaw, shakes his head. "Just get me that location."

Chin sighs, nods. 

"He's right, you know," Kono says, jumping to her cousin's defense. "Just call Danny, tell him what an ass he is. If you want, I --"

"What I want is for the both of you to mind your own damn business," Steve says, nostrils  flaring, hands in fists at his side. 

Kono advances. "The way I see it, it is our business, boss, you can't --" 

"Got a location on our man," Chin interrupts before things can get too heated. Steve holds Kono's angry gaze for a second, his own eyes spitting fire, before he turns to look at the TV screen where Chin has a map displayed. 

"The big island?" Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, lets it fall to his side, where the pocket holding the folded slip of paper rests. "Guess we'd better saddle up." 

"Think we need SWAT on this?" Kono's already gathering her weapons and gear, hand on her cell to make the call, should Steve give the go ahead.

Danny would’ve said something about how eager their rookie is to get in on the action, how much like Steve -- acting without thinking -- she is, and would’ve cautioned Kono to slow down. But, he’s not here, and it falls to Steve to keep their rookie in check, and he doesn’t know how to do it the way that Danny would.

"I think that's a little premature," Steve says, looking to Chin when, in the past, he would've looked to Danny for confirmation. 

It smarts, but he takes a breath, moves on. It was Danny's choice to leave, and, short of flying out to Jersey and kidnapping the man, there's nothing Steve can do about it. That ship has sailed, and it’s well past time that Steve should move on.

Chin nods his approval, and charters a small plane that'll take them to the big island. From there, they'll meet up with the local police and go pick up Kaheo Silva for a string of sexual assaults which have taken place over the course of three months, that they’re aware of; Chin’s conducting a secondary search through the police records of all of the outer islands, sifting through unsolved cases which have similarities to the ones which have been occurring on Oahu. 

Six women, in three months, and only one of them had been brave enough to come forward with information about her attacker. 

The man targeted lone mothers with children, coming up behind them in the parking lots of grocery stores and crowded shopping malls. He'd force them to drive to an isolated location, and then threaten to kill the children if they didn't cooperate with his demands: sex and money.

The women and children were shaken up, terrified of repercussions should they give the police any identifiers with which to identify their attacker. He wore a hoodie, and none of the women could identify any of his facial features, because they never got a clear look at his face, and none of them dared to speak up for fear that he’d be back for them as he’d threatened them he would. 

It was a maddening case, and it had gotten under everyone's skin. Young mothers, the island over, were afraid to take their children out to do normal, household chores, though the crimes had been concentrated mainly on the windward side of the island.

Five-0 finally got a lead a week and a half ago, when one brave woman came forward as a material witness. They were just now linking the brutal assaults to Kaheo Silva. 

It was a crime which would have really gotten to Danny. The detective would've driven the case, probably would've worked himself sick over it. Maybe would've gotten a lead sooner, because he had a way of talking with material witnesses that somehow made them feel comfortable opening up to him, no matter the threats their attacker may have made to keep them quiet. 

It had never ceased to amaze Steve, the ease with which Danny could draw information out of distraught people. The man was a genius when it came to reading people at work. It was too bad that genius didn't carry over into his personal life.

Steve hadn't wanted the space that Danny was giving him. Hadn't wanted to be spared the detective's pain, the struggles that Danny was going through as he worked on getting over what had happened to him nearly five months ago now. 

Steve hadn't wanted to bail on Danny. Never would have. He hadn't wanted a break from Danny, or the man’s intense anguish -- the nightmares, and flashbacks. Steve had wanted it all. 

He knew what it was like to wake up trapped in the throes of a nightmare that just didn't seem to want to let you go. He could've helped Danny through it. Wanted to help Danny through it. But Danny hadn't wanted that. Hadn't wanted Steve to 'suffer'. Danny’s words, not his. 

It hurt that Danny, for all of his skill as a detective, hadn't been able to deduce the fact that Steve couldn't help but suffer when Danny did, whether they were together or apart, and, more importantly, that he didn't mind. 

Steve  wanted to suffer right along with Danny. It was love's privilege for him to suffer, and Danny had stripped Steve of that privilege by leaving him.

What hurt most, though, was that Danny, for all of his ability, couldn't read Steve, the man that he purportedly loved, as well as he could read the victim or perpetrator of a crime. It had cut Steve so deeply that, even after five months, it was still an open, festering wound that stung like a son of a bitch.

"What's he doing on the big island?" Kono asks, drawing Steve from his reverie, and spurring him into motion.

Chin taps the screen, revealing a picture of Kaheo, their potential serial rapist. He’s holding a little girl in one arm, and has his other arm around the shoulder of a woman. A little boy is standing in the forefront, there are palm trees and just a glimpse of the ocean behind them. Everyone's smiling. They're all wearing matching aloha shirts and khakis -- Kaheo and the boy are in shorts, the woman and girl in skirts.

"Are you sure that's our man?" Steve's got to be sure. He can't reconcile the image of the smiling family man with the brutal crimes that have been haunting their island for several months now. 

"See this tattoo here?" Chin points to the distinctive mark on the man's neck -- a series of thick x's that ring the man's neck, like barbed wire, or the crown of thorns that Jesus wore on the cross. It is jarring, doesn't seem to fit the happiness that the photo is exuding. 

"It's just as Mele Tualu described it. And the prints that the forensics team were able to lift off of her van match Silva's. We got lucky this time around."

The way Steve sees it, this wasn't luck. It was bravery on the part of a woman who could've allowed fear and pain to rule her and keep her silent, but hadn't. It was a failure on his part to keep his island, the people he'd grown up with, safe from a monster with the face of a loving family man. 

"Steve," Chin squeezes his shoulder, "it's not your fault. Nobody could've guessed that our unsub had a family, that he lives on the big island and makes monthly business trips to Oahu, and other outer islands."

Steve shrugs out of Chin's grip. "Danny would've figured it out before Mele, hell before --"

"Maybe," Chin says sharply, holding a hand up to forestall Steve's self-deprecating tirade. "But Danny's not here, and we did the best that we could with what we had. There's no telling what would've happened if Danny had been on this case. He wasn't, and there's no point in working out the what ifs. We've got a lead now. All we have to do is follow it up. Bring Kaheo Silva in and process the case."

Kono's expression grows dark and grim. Chin shrugs, his expression giving away nothing of how he feels. 

Steve nods, because there's nothing else he can say. Nothing any of them can say. Danny's gone, and if he could've worked the case quicker, spared Mele and her two little boys the terror and pain they went through at the hands of Silva, then Danny's disappearance, because of his need for distance from Steve, was nothing short of a criminal act. 

Steve has only himself to blame, and he knows it. Danny's gone, Mele was raped, her children traumatized, and they've still got a serial rapist to bring to justice.

No matter what Danny's brief note says to the contrary, Steve knows that it was his fault that Danny left. That if he hadn't smothered Danny with his need to reassure himself that Danny was alive, and safe, the detective would still be here, beside him and Chin and Kono, breaking cases like this wide-open before they claimed victims like Mele and her sons.

Steve feels the familiar twisting ache in his gut that accompany his thoughts of Danny and he quickly shuts them down before they can lead him to the inevitable path of anger and regret that they always do. 

“Looks like this has been going on longer than we thought,” Chin says, face growing somber as he changes from the picture of Kaheo with his family, to pictures of women with busted lips and bruised faces. It’s a stark contrast and Steve’s stomach drops when he reads the dates, and the locations on these past cases. 

“Looks like Silva’s been a busy man,” Chin comments. “Some of these date back to several years ago. To just after he married and started a family. He’s traveled for business to Kauai and Maui, in addition to Oahu. Steve, this is bigger than we thought.”

Steve nods, wishes, not for the first time since this case started, that Danny was there to bounce ideas off of. His hand goes to the phone holstered at his side, and his fingers twitch, but he takes a deep breath, lets his hand fall idle to his side and doesn’t make the call. Right now, Jersey’s six hours ahead of Hawaii, which means that Danny would be asleep anyway. 

“Get ahold of the local police on the big island, and cue them in to what we’ve found,” Steve says, and he strides toward the door, more than ready to bring this case to a close as soon as possible. 

The hairs on the back of his neck twitch, and his skin itches, and Steve wishes that Danny hadn’t left, because something doesn’t feel right, but he can’t put his finger on it, and he knows that Danny would be able to pinpoint what’s off-kilter. All of the evidence is pointing to Kaheo Silva as their man, and they’ve got to go where the evidence, and their sole cooperative witness, points. 

“Boss, we got this,” Kono says, and he nods as Chin falls into step beside him. Her unspoken,  We don’t need Danny , is like a weight around his neck, because they  do need Danny.  He needs Danny.

They coordinate with the big island police, and the departments on the other two islands en route. Steve’s comfortable with the game plan. It’s got every angle covered, yet he feels like something -- someone -- is missing. 

It should be easy. 

Arrive, meet up with the local police, drive out to Silva’s place, and issue a warrant for his arrest. Simple. No reason to borrow trouble by worrying about what could go wrong. No reason to wonder what Danny would do, or say, the questions Danny would ask. 

Steve fingers the paper in his left pocket. It’s grown soft and silky over the past several months. And, though he’s got the words that Danny wrote on that paper memorized, he pulls it out of his pocket, unfolds the paper as carefully as he can, because it’s begun to fall apart, and he reads the only words that truly matter anymore. The words that keep him going each and every day. 

I love you.

Steve presses his lips to the paper and closes his eyes, breathes in the familiar scent of his partner, now just a memory, and folds the paper, replaces it in his left pocket.

I love you, too, Danno.

Steve pictures the words in his head, envisions saying them to Danny, holding him, only to have Danny disappear into thin air, like a magician’s smoke. When he opens his eyes, Chin is staring at him, a familiar sadness in his eyes that Steve avoids in favor of returning Kono’s wild, excited grin. 

She’s eager to make the arrest, to put Kaheo behind bars, and he can’t blame her. He’s eager to put this case behind them, to move onto something else. Gun runners or drug dealers or gang bangers. Something that doesn’t involve women and children being hurt. Something that doesn’t remind him quite so much of Danny.


	8. The Wrench in the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's return to the mainland hasn't gone exactly as planned. He misses Steve and Grace. Wishes that he could go home, but, for the time being, he can't, and he doesn't like the man that he's become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down to write, and was all set to make Danny reach out and get in touch with Steve, when the plot was suddenly highjacked by what actually ended up happening.
> 
> I do hope that people don't find this off-putting, or implausible, or just plain stupid. I didn't plan for this to happen, but it did, and so I wrote what came to me.
> 
> Thanks to those who've been so wonderfully supportive in their comments.

Danny wakes with a start, gasping for air, darkness so deep that it feels like he's being swallowed. 

He reaches across the bed, fingers fisting cold sheets, and then it hits him, like it always does -- Steve's not there. It feels like he’s been doused with water, the shock of it causing him to truly wake.

He sits up, waits until the darkness that’s in his mind recedes, and he gets his breathing under control. 

His back and chest ache, the muscles taut and bunched from how he'd slept, body curled up in a tight ball. His dream’s familiar -- same as it always is, beginning and ending with the box; losing Steve.

"Shit." 

Danny pushes himself out of bed, stumbles to the bathroom, which is only a few feet away. 

This apartment is even worse than the one he'd had when he first moved to Hawaii. It’s one room -- a couch that serves as a bed, a kitchenette, a bathroom that he can’t really turn around in; roaches and rats room for free.

He slams his knee against the table lamp and has to bite back another curse. He hobbles the rest of the way to the bathroom, and doesn't bother turning the light on.

He doesn't have anything left in his stomach to puke up, so he stands over the toilet wobbling for a few seconds, letting his stomach decide what it’s going to do. Hands braced against the too-close walls so that he doesn’t fall, Danny lets his eyes close for a second. They snap open a moment before his knees start to buckle. 

His head feels like someone's taken a hammer to it, which is a fair assessment after what happened yesterday. Getting his head slammed against a concrete wall had been the highlight of his day. 

The neon sign on the strip club from across the street is still burning bright, offers more than enough light for Danny to navigate by when he does manage to open his eyes. His blinds are more of a suggestion of privacy than anything else. He hasn't bothered replacing them, knows what Steve would say if he knew how Danny was living right now. Ignores his inner Steve McGarrett, because real or not, the figment of Danny's imagination is right, he lives in a shit-hole, and he doesn't need to have that rubbed in,  thank you very much.

Danny knows, even without having to look, that his piss is a nice, pinkish color. His kidneys had taken quite a beating, with the rest of him, and it hurts to pee. Feels like he’s pissing pure acid rather than urine. 

He'd foregone going to the hospital in favor of getting some sleep, because, not only would it help to solidify his cover, which is pretty intact, but morning, and Dominic Zanetti, would come much too quickly. Danny needs the sleep. He needs what little he can still salvage at 3:30 in the morning. 

Danny falls into bed, shoves the flat, ratty pillow over his head to shelter his eyes from the neon light spilling liberally in through the broken blinds.Tries not to think of how cold his bed is without Steve lying beside him, of how, even if he hadn't left Steve, the SEAL wouldn't fit in this much too small bed. Steve’s feet would dangle off the end, and they’d have to spoon; Danny wouldn’t be able to get away with stealing the covers, wouldn’t need to in such close quarters.

Danny shoves aside the mental pictures of Steve that flood his mind, because he can't think of the man right now. Not when he could use Steve's support; the man's calloused, yet gentle fingers making quick work of the knots that Danny's been carrying in his shoulders since he left five and a half months ago.

Thoughts of Steve are too dangerous right now. Besides, he has no right to think about Steve like that. Not after what he’s done. He  should  be suffering right now, and Danny takes small comfort in the fact that the aches of his body match those of his heart.

"I'm sorry," Danny whispers, his lips brushing against the threadbare sheets. 

He'd meant to call Steve, to explain why he'd left. To reassure Steve that it wasn't Steve's fault, because Danny knew that Steve would be blaming himself, that he’d chalk Danny’s leaving up to something that he’d inadvertently done to push Danny away. 

That Danny would merely be yet another person who’d left Steve in a long line of people, made Danny’s stomach clench painfully. He hated himself, hated what he knew this was doing to Steve, hated not knowing if Steve had moved on in his absence, hated that there was a part of him that wanted Steve to feel as broken and lost as he did. 

He’d wanted to explain to Steve that he’d just needed some time to get his head on straight, to come to terms with what had happened, and figure out how to move on from it -- to make the nightmares stop. 

But after he’d gotten settled in his sister’s home, he'd been hand-picked for an undercover op to bring down a nasty little piece of work, Dominic Zanetti. 

Dominic Zanetti was a small time mobster wannabe who, not only ran guns, but he was also balls deep in a rather lucrative drug and sex ring -- he was a small fish in a very big sea, and Danny was supposed to use his connection with Zanetti to get to the bigger fish. 

Zanetti was out to make it big; however, and was well on his way toward achieving that aim. He was as sleazy as they came, and every time Danny was around the man, it made his skin crawl.

The captain of the small precinct where Danny had been lucky to get a position, given his history, was new and also wanted to make a name for himself. He believed that Danny was just the ticket.

Because Danny had been gone from the East Coast for so long, he was no longer well known among the criminal element, and was, according to the captain, the perfect choice for the department to use in an undercover operation. He was also no longer in his element, being well outside of the precinct and the neighborhood he’d worked in when he’d been a detective.

He was quickly given an official okay by the department psychologist, for the records. Though, unofficially, he was told that he should seek outside help to deal with his frequent panic attacks, and what the doctor had told him was a mild case of PTSD. Professional help that, while undercover, Danny couldn’t seek out. 

Corruption came in all sizes, and for a multitude of reasons. Danny knew better than to complain, knew that if he didn’t take the job, he’d be out of a job, period, that strings would be pulled to keep him out of law enforcement. If he played his cards right, Danny would be able to bring down more than just a wannabe mobster, but a rather messed up precinct, and a power-hungry captain who’d only gotten the position based on the laurels of his family tree. 

Danny'd had to cut off all communications with his family -- he'd called Grace, had told Rachel only what he could, which wasn't much -- and had been given less than twenty-four hours to do so. He hadn’t had time to call Steve, and Steve wouldn’t be able to call him now if he wanted to; Danny's old number, hell, even his name had been changed.

Danny is now, during working hours, and even outside of working hours, Michael Lane, known to his associates as, Mickey Two Fists. Hired muscle for one of Dominic's many underground enterprises. 

Danny likes working with his fists, has discovered that he enjoys beating the shit out of goons; that he doesn’t mind occasionally getting knocked around himself. It’s a rush, and a way for him to deal with some of his pent up anger and fears.

Four months, ten days, and sixteen hours, he's been under, and Dominic trusts him, has no idea that Danny isn't the scrappy, former military man that his cover says he is. Disillusioned by two tours spent in Afghanistan, Mickey'd been in trouble with the law, spent a couple of years in a maximum security prison, and is an angry son-of-a-bitch, who'd just as soon put a fist through your face as look at you.

Years of working with Steve had made it easy for Danny to ease himself into his cover. He’d just adopted some of Steve’s ways, and made the role his own.

Mickey never looks anyone in the eye, has a penchant for going on drinking binges that last for days (his cover for meeting with his handler), and is partial to dark-haired bimbos; gender doesn't matter. Mickey never gets people's names, uses his fists instead of words, and always looks out for number one. His single-mindedness is one of the things that Dominic likes about him.

Mickey keeps his dark hair close-cropped. Keeps brass knuckles, and a butterfly knife on his person at all times. Is partial to wearing a few pieces of gold jewelry, chief of which is a large, jeweled ring which leaves quite a mark. 

He always wears black -- close fitting tees, and cargo pants. Never uses a gun. Doesn’t trust them.

He treats everyone around him like pawns in a game of chess, to be used and discarded on his way to the top of Dominic's organization. He doesn't care about anyone or anything, does his job with finesse. 

Mickey doesn't suck up to Dominic, treats him like he does everyone else -- as nothing more than a means to an end. Dominic eats it up like candy, pushes Mickey to greater and greater heights of brutality, and stands watching in the shadowy corners with a smile on his face. Brags about Mickey to his other associates, which is how Danny came to be in so much pain. 

Danny’s a good fighter, had grown up fighting. But, four against one had been a little much for him to handle without getting a beat up in the process. 

It makes Danny sick, what he’s become, but he does his job, has become Mickey Two Fists to the point where he's started to think like the man. Dark, angry, bitter at the world. 

Keeps thoughts of Steve and Grace, of home, as far from his mind as possible when he’s working. Tries not to think of what Steve would say if he found out that Danny had put a man in the hospital with his bare fists. Of how differently his little girl would look at him if she found out what he'd become, how she'd no longer see him as a hero, but rather a monster. How Grace would be afraid of Mickey, and Steve would fight to take him off the streets.

Getting out of this, now that he’s in so deep, is not an option. Danny’ll have to play it out until the end, become Dominic's right hand man. Much as he'd been Steve's backup once upon a time. 

Danny fists his hand in the sheets, ignores the painful tug of broken skin across his knuckles. He's done what he can for them, cleaned them up and wrapped them in gauze. He’s wrapped his bruised ribs as well. It doesn’t hurt as much to breathe as it did earlier.

In a few short hours, he's got to be Mickey, until then, he'll sleep, try to dream of Steve, rather than the box, or his daughter's hatred of him if she were to find out about some of the things that he's done in the name of justice. Tries to keep the nightmares from coming at him again, and catching him unawares, pulling him back into the haunting darkness.

"Just a few more weeks," Danny whispers, willing Steve, thousands of miles away, to hear him. Willing Steve not to give up on him, on them. 

He's almost got enough to bring Dominic's whole operation down, and shine a light on the corruption that landed him in this undercover operation in the first place. When it's over, Danny's going to do whatever the hell it takes to return to Steve, to make right what he’s ruined. If Steve hasn’t moved on and is willing to take him back, that is.

 


	9. Meddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve gets injured because he does something spectacularly foolish, Kono decides that enough is enough, and makes the call that she'd promised herself she wouldn't. Turns out, she should have made that call sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kono decided that enough was enough. She wanted to put an end to things. Alas...I don't think she's happy with me.
> 
> Thank you for those who have continued to support this story, in spite of its twists and wrenches. I hope that, though this chapter does not reconcile the boys, you find it enjoyable, and that you will still want to read. 
> 
> Mahalo

"I'm looking for Detective Daniel Williams," Kono's voice is starting to wear thin. "I was told that he was working for your department."

"Look," Kono growls, her anger getting the better of her when she gets another non-answer, yet someone else who's apparently never even heard of Danny. "It's an emergency. I need to get in touch with Detective Williams immediately."

Kono holds her tongue while the officer on the other end apologizes and taps out something on his computer. Though she can hear the clacking of the keys, it offers her no solace.

This is the fourth call that she's made since she got off the phone with Danny's sister over an hour ago. That Steve is currently being treated for deep lacerations to his forearm, and thigh, only serves to set Kono even more on edge.

The fact that Kaheo Silva was innocent, that he had a sick and twisted twin brother who had committed the crimes, and that the twin, Kaleo, was now dead, was of little consolation to anyone, let alone Kono, at the moment.

It had been a long, exhausting thirty-six plus hours, trekking through the rough terrain that the sharp, volcanic rock made in Hilo, Hawaii. None of them had made it through the ordeal unscathed, though Steve, taking chances he shouldn't have, had suffered the brunt of Kaleo's foolish attempt at running from Five-0, and the police that were pursuing him.

The man's family had been shocked, devastated when Kaheo had been cleared, only to learn that it was Kaleo who'd committed the heinous acts. He often joined his brother on his business trips only to disappear in the middle of a deal.

They were business partners, and Kaleo always returned with a reasonable excuse -- finding them a new client -- that Kaheo didn't question. None of the man's family, most of all his twin, wanted to believe that Kaleo was capable of such brutality.

His running, with Kaheo's little girl as a hostage, had been unexpected. When they finally caught up with him, the little girl was relatively unharmed, but terrified, and in shock. Steve had made a foolish move, one that Danny would have spent hours lambasting him for, were he here, and if Kono could only get in touch with him.

Steve had ignored her and Chin, his injuries. He'd refused medical treatment until the officer in charge of the operation on the big island intervened. A call to the governor had settled matters quickly, and now Steve was being treated for the jagged cuts that he'd gotten when he'd tumbled down the slippery slope of razor-sharp volcanic rock as he'd chased after Kaleo.

Kono was bruised, practically all over. She wouldn't be surfing anytime soon. Chin had sustained several bruises himself, and a superficial cut which hadn't required stitches. Surgical glue had been sufficient to close the wound to his hand.

"Sorry, but we have no record of a Detective Williams in our system," the officer sounds sincere, truthful,and Kono has no reason to doubt him, but she's frustrated and starting to worry, because surely Danny wouldn't go so far as to lie to his sister about where he was working to keep Steve out of his life.

Kono ends the call abruptly, and dials a number that she had promised herself she wouldn't, because Steve and Danny are both adults, and she shouldn't have to do this. Stupid, stubborn adults, yes, but adults capable of handling their own messes without the need of outside intervention. Except, they hadn’t, and now it had fallen upon her to do what they clearly weren’t going to do. For her own sanity, as much as for theirs.

Kono almost drops her phone, curses and stalks to the other side of the small hospital corridor, heedless of the furtive looks that are cast her way as people push themselves out of her way. Furious, she grips her phone tightly and dials the number again, stabbing at each of the memorized digits with her index finger. She ignores the way that her finger aches, and pinches the bridge of her nose when she gets the same message, that the phone number she’s dialed is no longer in service.

If Danny was standing in front of her right now, she'd punch him in the throat, and then strangle him. Maybe in reverse order.

"He changed his number," Kono mutters. "Asshole."

Kono pushes her way out of the hospital, needing more distance from Steve, from the situation that's spiraled out of control. This next call is one that Kono isn't sure she should make, but it's one that she needs to make, because something's gotta give, and it's not going to be her.

"Rachel? It's Kono." Kono's stomach drops when Rachel talks over her, concern for Danny prominent in the woman's voice.

"He said it'd only be a couple months, tops," Rachel's voice cracks, she’s angry and worried, that much is clear to Kono. "Tell me he's okay, that he can come home now. Tell me that it's over, that he can take Grace for the weekend. She misses her father. She misses her Danno."

Kono has to sit down. She's dizzy. Rachel's words, her begging, don't make sense. "Rachel, slow down. What are you talking about? I called to get Danny's new number from you. He changed it. Steve's..."

"You don't know?" Rachel's voice takes on a critical note. "He didn't tell you, or Steve? I _told_ him to call Steve." The last part is muttered.

Kono's throat feels like it's closing, her tongue’s thick. The headache that she’d been able to keep at bay for the past several hours, which had, for the longest time, merely been a suggestion, suddenly decides to flare to life, and Kono closes her eyes against the much too bright light of the sun.

"None of us have heard from Danny for over five months," Kono says, gritting her teeth, feeling small, stupid, petty. Her stomach feels like she's been sucker punched. She’s angry with Danny. Angry with Rachel. Angry with Steve.

"I see." Rachel draws in a breath, and Kono can tell that the woman's deliberating whether or not to say anything else.

Kono wants to beg Rachel to tell her what she knows. Wants to threaten Rachel. Wants answers. Period. Is fearful that she won't get anything, that Danny's ex-wife will respect his privacy, protect the detective from being forced into a reunion that he obviously doesn't want to have, even if it’s going to kill him. Kill Steve. Kill her and Chin, and all of the state of Hawaii, because of his stupid pride.

"That stupid, foolish man," Rachel hisses. "Idiot."

Kono blinks, presses her fingertips to her temple, hoping to keep the burgeoning headache under control for just a little longer. She's having a hard time processing Rachel's words, the woman's tangible anger.

"I'm sorry..." It's been a long, hot couple of days, and Kono should have listened to Chin, should have drank more water. She's not understanding Rachel. Not comprehending what it is that she’s hearing.

She’s angry, and tired, and she wants to separate her head from the rest of her body.

"Steve didn't go after him?" Rachel asks, and then Kono gets it. Rachel doesn’t know the full extent of what Danny and Steve have done to each other, done to the team. The height of the men’s stupidity.

Kono shakes her head, realizes she's on the phone, and takes a deep breath. "No."

"Those two deserve each other." Rachel's words are accompanied with a harsh bark of laughter. "Kono, Danny's gone undercover. I'd assumed that he'd called and explained things to Steve. That he'd, for once in his life, done the sensible thing. Obviously, I was wrong."

Kono laughs, tears springing to her eyes. She wipes them away, chalks it up to the hellish couple of days that she's had, because this, what Danny’s done is even stupider than she imagined.

She leans against Chin when he sits beside her on the bench. She hadn't heard him walk up, has no idea how long he's been there, watching, listening, but it doesn't matter, because he's here now, and his presence somehow gives her strength.

"Do you have a number we can reach Danny at?" Kono asks when she can speak again. Once her tears and laughter have subsided.

"I'm sorry, I was hoping that you'd be able to put me in touch with Danny. I was going to call Steve if I didn't hear from Danny this weekend," Rachel says, and she sounds apologetic, like this is somehow her fault. "It's been too long; I'm worried. He made a promise to Grace. Danny might be a lot of things, but he isn't a deadbeat father. He keeps his promises."

Chin reaches for the phone, and Kono lets him have it. Her fingers are numb, her head spinning. Chin's voice buzzes, and Kono tries, but fails to follow his side of the conversation. She lets her head rest against Chin’s shoulder, and his words wash over her.

“Don’t worry, Rachel,” Chin’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the other end of a tunnel, and Kono can’t open her eyes. “We’ll find him.”

Chin’s laughter, mirthless, rouses Kono, but she keeps her eyes closed, hoping that if she does, the headache that is pounding against the back of her eyelids will get the memo and stop.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line for that,” Chin says drily.

“Yeah, they do,” Chin’s words sound warped, like they’re being pushed through a straw. “They certainly do deserve each other.”

Chin pulls Kono close, helps her stand up, and then ushers her back into the hospital. She tries to protest, tries to dig her heels in. She doesn't want to return to the hospital. Doesn’t want to wait for word on Steve. Doesn’t want to think about what Danny’s done. About Steve, ever the emotionally stunted gentleman, not going after Danny in the first place. About the possibility that Danny might be lost to them -- and along with him, Steve -- forever.

In the end, she doesn’t have to think. There’s a gurney, and an IV waiting for her. The prick of a needle and meds flood her system, take away the nagging headache, and the thoughts that she just can’t seem to dodge, no matter how hard she tries.

“It’s going to be alright, cuz,” Chin whispers. “We’re going to find Danny and bring him home.”

“And then I’m going to kick his ass,” Kono says, her words slurred.

She feels Chin’s hand on her hair, brushing it back from her overly warm forehead. His fingers are calloused, comforting. His lips, cool.

“I won’t stand in your way,” Chin promises, and then Kono lets everything fade away.

She gives into the quiet, soothing pull of the drugs that promise her sound sleep and healing. When she wakes, Steve will still be injured and pining after Danny. Danny will still be gone, lost in some bureaucratic shuffle, and she will still be fighting to bring the two of them back together, because someone needs to do it, and it looks like she’s pulled the short straw.


	10. Back Alley Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny had fucked up, big time. He really shouldn't be surprised, or complain about how things have turned out for him. Not after what he did to Steve. He just hopes that he gets the chance to apologize, beg for forgiveness, before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little stream-of-consciousness thinking on Danny's part.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been so wonderfully supportive and patient as this story unfolds.
> 
> I've got the next part, waiting in the wings (might tweak it a bit), and will be working on the subsequent part. 
> 
> I think that it should go without saying, but, just in case, I am not an expert in police procedures, though I did grow up in with a mother who worked with the police, and was exposed to certain things. In other words, I know that undercover work would, more than likely, not be set up like this, or go down like this. Please forgive me for the imperfections in this story. Thank you.

'Dying isn't really all that it's cracked up to be,' Danny thinks. 

He'd laugh, if he could, because, in a way, it's kind of funny.

He's lying face-down in an alley that reeks of rotting cabbage, dead fish and piss, and he doesn’t even know how long he’s been there, or even why Morgan -- his handler -- shot him. His parted lips are pressed to the wet, grimy concrete, and it tastes like motor oil, cat piss and shit. 

He can feel the blood pumping out of the wounds in his chest, and the funny thing is, it's not his own life that flashes before his eyes.

No, it's thoughts of Grace and Steve, Kono, Chin, and even Rachel, who, by now, must've given up on him, that serve as the backdrop to his death scene. It's just as well, too, given how he's met his end. Gunned down in the alley behind his shitty, hellhole of an apartment, like some no-name thug.

Maybe he'd played the role of Mickey Lane a little too well. Had overplayed his hand. Hadn't secured a backup that he knew he could trust, and had been betrayed by someone he should have been able to trust -- his handler. 

He could blame his untimely ending on the corrupt chief of police who'd sent him undercover when he wasn't ready, or the poorly paid department psych who'd given the man the go-ahead that was needed to send Danny on this little trip to Hell. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s had been part of Danny’s downfall. 

Could blame the box, because, ultimately,  it was what had driven him away from Hawaii. From Steve.

Could blame Steve for letting him leave, and not coming after him; Kono and Chin for not calling, not caring. 

There was a whole laundry list of people and circumstances that Danny could blame for the dire situation he currently found himself in, not the least of which was the dirty cop who’d actually shot him.

But, he didn't have to look any further than the shallow, fetid puddle of water that he was currently lying in to know who was really at fault. 

He'd fucked up. Big time, and there wasn't even anyone around to rub it in. He didn't deserve anyone anyway.

_Self-pity, Danny? At a time like this?_ A voice from his past -- that of his former, and quite dead, partner, Grace -- whispers in his ear. 

He can picture her, too, kneeling beside him, hand pressed to his back, dark hair falling into her face. She blows a puff of air at it, finally brushes it back with an angry jerk of her hand when it remains stubbornly in place.

She shouldn't be here. No one should be here. 

She laughs. It echoes off the crumbling brick walls. Gets carried away by the wind.

'I'm entitled,' Danny thinks. Because he's dying. Alone. In some dark, dank alley, and there's no one who's going to miss him. No one who'll come looking for him, because he’d pushed them out of his life. 

_You're an idiot, you know that, right?_ Grace sounds pissed, the warmth of her hand on his back shifts away, and Danny misses it. 

Misses her.

_Oh, no you don't,_ Grace snaps at him.  _You are_ _not_ _going to use me as your excuse for giving up. Uh-uh. No way, Danny. You don't miss me. Not like that. Besides, it's not your time._

‘Time,’ Danny thinks, ‘is relative.’

_Stop wasting time, Danny. You know what to do. Do it._ Grace’s voice is rough, filled with emotion, and Danny can feel her hand on his back once again. It’s warmth stirs him, gives him a boost of strength, and his mind seems to clear.

His cell phone’s in his front pocket. He’d been heading to a safe location to make an important phone call. One that, no matter what, he wouldn’t miss making, because it was to his baby girl. He’d promised her. Promised his Grace that he would call her on her birthday. And Danny never breaks his promises to Grace. She’s  his life. 

So is Steve.

And, so, when he manages, with numb fingers, to pry his phone from his front pocket, he shakily dials the number that he’d tried to will himself over the past several months to forget, but never could. He stabs at the lighted numbers, nearly missing them, and he realizes, with a sense of detachment, that his fingers are covered with blood. That, he’s getting blood on his phone. 

It’s a cheap phone. One that he keeps secret from Zanetti, because it’s supposed to be his  safe  phone. A phone that, after he uses it, he’s supposed to get rid of. He shoves it beneath his ear, listens to the phone ring.

He’s shivering with cold, with pain, and he can’t quite catch his breath. The phone rings, and Danny can’t feel Grace’s hand on his back anymore. Can’t feel anything, but the cold and the pain, and the blood pumping out of him.

He’s dying. 

He’s dying, and Steve’s not answering his phone.

He’s dying. 

Cold.

Alone. 

Not even the ghost of his former partner is there to keep him company anymore.

“Who is this?” the voice that answers, that makes Danny open his eyes, isn’t Steve’s. It isn’t Steve’s, and Danny’s heart skips a beat, because he doesn’t want his last conversation on this earth to be with Chin, much as he admires the man. Chin Ho Kelly is a fine officer. A good man to have as back-up. A good man, period. But, he’s not Steve.

“Danny? Is that you?” Chin’s voice sounds suspicious, a little angry, and it’s soft, like he’s whispering. “Listen, Steve’s not in a position to talk to you just now. He’s been hurt. He’s resting. Can you call back later?”

Danny opens his mouth to answer, has a hard time wrapping his mind around what Chin’s said, because it doesn’t make sense, and he can’t call again. He won’t have the strength to. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out of it, not even a whimper. He swallows, and chokes on his own spit, coughs. 

“Danny?” Chin’s voice is louder, laced with concern. “Danny, talk to me. Where are you? What’s happened?”

Danny doesn’t understand the questions. Doesn’t know how to answer. He called for one reason, and now, he can’t even get his mouth to work, can’t muster enough breath to give sound to the words that he’d called Steve to say. 

“Danny? Can you hear me? Just, stay on the phone, okay?” Chin’s voice washes over him, and Danny nods. He can stay on the phone. Sure thing. 

He tries to take in enough breath, just enough to say what he’d called to say, tries to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest. Tries to ignore the bubbling feeling inside of his lungs, the gurgling sound that crosses the threshold of his lips, but it’s impossible, and he knows that this is it. 

He’s dying.

He’s dying, and Chin is using Steve’s phone. 

He’s dying, and he can’t even say goodbye to the man that he loves. 

‘Serves you right,’ Danny thinks, and he tries to push himself up, off the dirty asphalt. Tries to move. It’s hard, and it hurts, and blood is pouring out of him like there’s no tomorrow, and he just wants to talk to Steve, wants to tell Steve that he’s sorry, wants...wants...wants to live so that he can tell Steve all of this in person. 

Wants to live so that he can crawl, on his knees, beg Steve to forgive him, beg the man to take him back, because there’s got to be more to life than this. More to life than serving the people of whatever city he’s living in, and dying, alone, gunned down, like an animal, in an alley behind a titty bar. 

“Danny, c’mon, talk to me, brah,” Chin says, his voice sharp, purposeful. “Just, give me something to work with,” he mutters. “Kono, I think I’ve got Danny on the line here, I need to...”

Whatever Chin needs to do is lost to Danny as the cell phone encounters some kind of feedback -- the squealing sound makes Danny wince -- but he thinks he knows what Chin’s planning to do. Hopes, prays that it will work, that Chin will be able to work his computer magic and find him, send someone to help. 

“Hey, Danny? It’s Kono,” Kono’s voice is thin, shaky. “Chin’s working on finding you. Can you tell me what happened? Where are you? Why haven’t you called? Do you know what you’ve put Steve through? What you’ve put  us  through?”

Words bubble to Danny’s lips, slip past them, come out garbled, indecipherable, and he chokes on something thick and coppery. There’s a part of him that knows it’s blood. That it’s  his  blood that he’s choking on, and he feels like he’s back in the box, that he  is the box, and it’s leaking. It’s leaking his life’s blood, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Danny? Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry. Just, Danny, I...Chin, do you have a lock on him yet?” Kono’s voice floats in and out, warbles, and Danny’s suddenly tired. **  
** “Trying here cuz,” Chin’s voice is reedy, far away. “Standard police issue laptops aren’t exactly equipped for this kind of work, but I think I’ve almost got it.”

Danny’s tired, and he no longer hurts. Which, he supposes, is a plus.

He’s tired, and he’s in the box.

The box is keeping him safe.

It keeps him safe. Shelters him from the wind, and the cold, from the rain that’s starting to fall. Keeps the bold, nosy street rat from poking at him, the black cat he’d dubbed One-Eyed Willie, from settling onto the small of his back and rumbling like a tiny engine. 

He misses Grace, his daughter, not his dead partner, though he misses her too.

Misses Steve.

Misses Chin and Kono.

Misses palm trees, the ocean being a stone’s throw away no matter where he is, the fragrant scent of plumeria that hangs in the air. Misses home.

Misses the certainty of the box.

Misses whatever it is that Kono says next, because his head’s a little fuzzy, and he’s so damn tired, and he just wants to close his eyes and wake up in Hawaii. If he had some ruby slippers, he’d click them together, make a wish, ride a fucking tornado, and return home -- return to Steve, and Grace; to late afternoon barbecues with his o’hana. 

“Danny? Danny, can you hear me?” Kono’s voice snaps Danny back to the present. Back to the pain, the cold, the rat investigating his side with its sharp little claws, to One-Eyed Willie purring away like a motorized streetcar. 

‘Yes,’ Danny thinks, laughs, because Kono’s not a mind-reader. Wishes she was, because if she was, then none of this would be necessary. 

“Danny, talk to me,” and it’s no longer Kono’s voice. It’s Steve, and Danny smiles, even though Steve sounds even more tired than Danny feels, and Steve can’t see him smile.

Danny wants to talk. Opens his mouth, closes it, licks his lips and swallows a mouthful of blood for his efforts. This is important though. More important than anything has ever been, other than saving Grace from Peterson. Other than making sure that Grace Tillwell was brought to rest properly. Other than making damn sure that his life had counted for something afterwards.

“Danno, just, babe, please, please talk to me,” Steve says, and his voice cracks. 

Danny blinks, takes a deep breath, pushes it out past his lips, and it bubbles there. It bubbles, and he wonders if the bubbles are pink. He works his throat, tries to regather the words that he’d rehearsed in his head for the past five or so months, but they keep shifting, and moving, and getting out of order, and he can’t quite get them reorderd properly. 

“Steve,” Danny thinks he says. He thinks that the name leaves his lips, that he’d given voice to it. “S’rry. F’g’ve me.”

Danny sighs when he’s finished, feeling better, lighter, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, his soul. 

He’s able to close his eyes and sleep now, because he’s done what he’s dreamt of doing for the past several months, though in far, far less words than he’d wanted to use. 

It’ll have to do, though, because Danny can’t find the rest of the words he’d wanted to say. They’ve slipped from his mind, out of his ears, onto the pavement, and the rat’s nibbling on them. Licking at his blood. 

One-Eyed Willie’s kneading Danny’s back. It doesn’t hurt, even when the cat’s nails poke through his ruined shirt. The cat’s still purring, and Steve’s still talking, but Danny’s thoughts are slipping away. 

Slipping away, like his blood. The cracked asphalt is thirsty, greedy, taking, taking, taking all of Danny that it can get. 

And dying isn’t anything like Danny had imagined it would be. 

It isn’t so bad. 

Not really. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Danny wonders if Grace had known such peace before she’d died. Doubts it. Wishes that she hadn’t died, that it had been him, not her, who’d died in that warehouse. Though, he’d have missed meeting his daughter, missed the heartache of divorce, missed moving to Hawaii, meeting Steve, and Chin and Kono. Missed...missed...missed, god, he missed Steve. 

Misses Steve.

Steve’s voice is a low, comforting hum against Danny’s ear, and Danny wishes he could squeeze himself through the phone, follow the airwaves back to Steve. Follow them back to Steve, follow them back in time and undo all of the damage that he’s done. Fix his brokenness before it broke him and Steve, before it broke them. 

And as his heart starts to slow, his lungs failing to fill completely, Danny pictures Steve as an old man, hair white. He’s alone, sitting on his lanai, drinking a beer, looking out at the ocean. He looks sad, and Danny’s standing there, beside him, a hand on Steve’s shoulder, but Steve can’t see him, doesn’t sense his presence.

“I miss you, Danno.” Steve’s voice is gravelly, and, when he finishes his beer, he struggles to rise off of the lawn chair that he’s sitting on. He plucks a cane up off the ground and hobbles toward the house. His back’s bent with age, and he’s limping, one hand rubbing at a knot on his left knee. 

Danny stands, frozen to his spot on the lanai, watches Steve enter the house. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t know that Danny’s there, and Danny’s heart aches, because all he can do is watch as Steve’s life, the end of it, flashes before him, and that’s not what he wants for Steve. 

That’s not what he wants for the man he loves. He doesn’t want Steve to spend the rest of his life pining after him.

But, as Danny takes one last, deep breath, intending to use it to tell Steve to move on, even that slips away from him, and the moment is lost. It’s lost in a murky nothingness. Lost in a final exhale that Danny doesn’t even feel leave his lungs. Lost in a dark, cold alley behind a shitty apartment in a long string of shitty apartments.

No, death is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Not by a long shot. 


	11. Thin Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Chin and Kono deal with the aftermath of Danny's call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired, in part, by Blue October's, "Amazing," but mostly by the wonderful support this story has received. Thank you. 
> 
> I honestly am not sure if I like this chapter, but I feel better about it today than I did yesterday. I hope that it passes muster.

“Chin, this can’t wait,” Steve says. “ _I_ can’t wait.” His skin feels like it’s too tight, that he’s about to burst right out of it if he doesn’t get moving soon.

“But...” Chin sighs, runs a hand through his hair and nods.

Steve knows what the man is thinking, that it’s too soon after what happened today. They’re all injured, exhausted, hurting, and now is not the time for Steve to take off on what could very well be nothing more than a ghost hunt.

“I’m going with you,” Kono announces; she’s got her duffel on her shoulder, a hand on her hip.

Steve shakes his head. He has to do this alone, _wants_ to do this alone, because if...if Danny’s really dead, then he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He looks to Chin for support, hoping that the seasoned officer will give it, that he’ll be able to keep Kono in check.

“Steve, we’re both coming,” Chin says; he’s looking at the phone in his hand. “I’ve already booked our flight. It leaves in just under three hours.” He takes a deep breath and looks at Steve. There’s a steely resolve in Chin’s eyes, and Steve knows that he’s outnumbered, that Chin is not going to back down, and if need be, the older, more experienced officer, will sic Kono on him.

It’s not fair. But nothing, strictly speaking, has been fair since Danny’s left him.

“Danny’s our friend, too,” he adds softly, placing a hand on Steve’s and ignoring the way that Steve tenses beneath the touch. “He’s in trouble, and we’re going along to help.”

“And to keep an eye on you, boss,” Kono says, punches Steve in the shoulder, holds up a little brown bottle of pills and jangles it in his face.

Steve grimaces and shakes his head, but the truth is that his body _does_ ache from his tumble down the mountainside, and he’s got the stitches, the headache and the bruises to prove it. He’d been stupid, going after Silva the way he had. Danny would’ve given him an earful, and then some. Steve would have been spending that night -- bruises, stitches and all -- on the couch, maybe even the next.

The fact that he’d purposefully neglected to pick up the very pills that Kono’s holding in her hand has more to do with stubbornness than anything else, and Steve knows it. Danny would’ve watched him like a hawk, made sure he took his pills, done what Kono is doing, whether he’d consigned Steve to the couch or not.

“What if...” Steve stops himself from finishing the question that’s on all of their minds. His voice breaks and tears threaten, and he has to look away from Chin, from Kono, because if he doesn’t, then the tears will fall, and he’s _not_ a weak man. Not a man easily given to pining and tears. If Danny was here, he’d tell Steve that tears are not a sign of weakness. But, Danny’s not here. He’s not here, and Steve can’t think about it. Can’t think about why it is that the tears are pressing at the back of his eyes.

He hates that he doesn’t know if Danny’s alive, not for sure. The paramedics -- thank god they’d arrived when they had, when Danny’d gone far too silent -- had said that it didn’t look promising when they found him. They’d used the word bleak.

Danny hadn’t been breathing, and his heart had stopped beating. The paramedics had cut the call off abruptly when they began to work on reviving the fallen officer. Steve had only been able to give the men a short version of what he knew -- that Danny was undercover, that he was an officer -- before the call was ended, and he was left holding a dead, silent phone to his ear with fingers that trembled.

Steve’s heart had simply stopped beating for a moment that felt like an eternity, and he went blind, his legs gave out on him, and, for several terrifying minutes, he couldn’t remember how to breathe. The world -- doctors and nurses scurrying around him, shouting out orders, Kono pacing nearby, and Chin kneeling down beside him, urging him to breathe -- came back to him slowly, and in disjointed pieces.

Steve’s head took several more heartbeats to clear, and, when it finally did, he hadn’t been able to accept what he’d heard. Unable to believe that Danny was really dead -- whether for a minute or for the rest of forever --Steve had ordered Chin to keep an eye on the cell phone’s signal. Not that Chin had stopped.

How Chin had been able to find, and then follow it was, and would forever be, a mystery to Steve. All he cared about was that Chin had been able to do it, that he’d been able to find Danny. That he was able to keep tracking him.

“He’s not dead,” Kono says fiercely, bringing Steve back to the present, her dark eyes sparkling. “The paramedics were able to revive him,” she adds with confidence, though it’s been hours and the paramedics haven’t called back. Not that they’d promised that they would. They hadn’t promised Steve anything.

“I’m still picking up a signal from the cell phone that he used to contact you,” Chin says.

He’s holding up the borrowed laptop, pointing toward a blinking light, and Steve has no idea how Chin’s managed to do what he’s done with such a cheap piece of equipment, but right now he could kiss the man, because what he’s pointing at is a hospital, and that’s exactly where they’re heading. Just as soon as they can get things in motion here.

“I wish we knew what cover he was using,” Steve says, not for the first time since he’d learned of Kono’s conversation with Rachel.

He’d wanted to put his fist through a wall when he heard about Danny going undercover. Wanted to read the man the riot act, make Danny sleep on the couch, or build the man a doghouse, because it was a stupid and foolish thing to do without good, reliable backup. Without people that he could trust, and there was no way in hell that Steve believed that Danny had found people, there, who he had begun to trust to have his back that quickly. Not when it had taken Danny several months to start trusting him.

It makes Steve’s gut twist, and raises the hairs on the back of his neck when he thinks about it. Raises his blood pressure, which he’s supposed to keep an eye on, because of the slight heatstroke he’d suffered from running on the black, volcanic rock when the sun was at its highest.

He knows, instinctively, that something was wrong with the undercover operation from the get-go. That Danny had walked into a deathtrap and from what he could tell from where he stood now, Danny had done so willingly. What Steve didn’t know, didn’t understand, was why Danny had done it. Surely the man wouldn’t put his life on the line when he still had Grace to help raise.

“Chin, see what you can find out about the undercover operation that Danny was on,” Steve says, the uneasiness in his gut growing ten-fold as a hundred different scenarios play themselves out in his mind. None of them ending well for Danny. Or for him.

“Already on it,” Chin says, and Steve can see that, in addition to the laptop Chin had borrowed from the Hilo Police Department, he’s also got a second smart phone, and an ipad.

For a second, Steve feels dizzy as he watches Chin work each device expertly, and almost simultaneously. The man’s like an octopus and Steve has to look away, because it brings tears to his eyes when he thinks about why Chin is working away like mad.

“Would make it easier to get information from the hospital,” Kono mutters.

Steve knows that she’s angry with herself for not getting more information from Rachel; for her body finally giving in to the heatstroke that it had been valiantly fighting off. It was a combination of too much sun and dehydration that had been her undoing. She, too, had a tiny brown bottle filled with pills, and strict instructions to drink at least two more quarts of water before the day was over. No amount of Chin and Steve telling her that none of this was her fault had helped soothe Kono’s smarting heart.

“It wasn’t promising that they’ve got a busy E.R., lots of John Does with a variety of injuries from gunshot wounds to lethal knife wounds,” Chin adds, his mouth twisting sardonically.

Chin called the hospital, shortly after the blip on his computer had indicated that Danny -- provided that he hadn’t been separated from his cell phone -- had arrived. Had tried to get through to someone who was willing to talk to him, but had been given the runaround, even when he’d played the ‘police’ and emergency cards. The E.R. had simply been too swamped when he’d called. Something about a massive car pile-up and a public shooting of some sort.

“He’s alive,” Kono says with finality, slamming a fist into her open palm.

Steve wants to believe her, wants to trust that the twinge that he feels in his gut is what it’s telling him that it is -- a sign that Danny’s still alive.

Wouldn’t he feel it, in the deepest recesses of his being, if Danny was dead? Surely he’d feel the loss of this connection that’s been keeping him going for these past several months in Danny’s absence. Steve hadn’t realized that this connection existed until Danny had left him, and he’d first felt a pang -- an ache in his gut that told him something was wrong. He’d ignored that pang, and there isn’t a day that goes by where he wishes that he hadn’t, that he’d recognized it for what it was that day, and that he’d intercepted Danny before the man had left.

Steve knows that, if Danny was really and truly dead, that he'd feel their connection snap. He's certain of it. And that means that Danny's still alive, because Steve hasn't felt the _aloneness_ that he knows will be there when Danny's gone. It'll be all-encompassing, and Steve knows that he won't be coming back from that -- not fully.

The connection that he's got with Danny, it's still there. It's weak and flickering, and putting Steve's heart through the wringer, because it’s telling him that Danny's not doing well, but it's still there.

Something inside of Steve had _known_ before Chin had passed the phone to him that it was Danny on the other end. Had known that Danny was slipping away from him, that Danny _had_ slipped away from him, from this life, for a time. But then he’d come back, Steve’s certain of it. Trusts his gut, because that’s all that he’s got left in the absence of his partner.

There's no guarantee that the paramedics had been able to revive Danny. No guarantee that, when Steve and Chin and Kono set foot in the hospital thousands of miles away, hours from now, Danny's not going to be in the morgue.

No guarantee, other than the feeling deep in Steve's gut. That thin, ethereal string, vibrating inside of him which connects Steve to Danny on some otherworldly plane. Steve wonders if Danny has this same sense of connection. If this _string_ goes both ways.

He hopes that it does, sends Danny as much love and comfort and hope as he can. Sends the man a kick in the ass, because that’s what he wants to do -- kick Danny for leaving him. But Danny needs to be alive in order for him to do that, and Steve’s counting on it. Counting on Danny.

_Hang on, Danny. I’m coming for you. Don’t let go. I’m coming for you. Danno, just hold onto me, hold onto us. Don’t give up._

“Steve?” Chin’s voice sounds half-amused, half-concerned, and Steve knows that the man’s been trying, and failing, to get his attention by the look that Chin gives him.

Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out.

“Steve, we’ve got to have a game plan. We’ve got to be careful, because Danny’s undercover. We can’t just march into the hospital, declaring war on the hospital staff if they don’t immediately give us access to Danny,” Chin says drily.

Steve glares at him, but nods, because that’s exactly what he’d planned on doing. Not in so many words; not in any words, actually. He’d pictured it all in his mind -- he’d made several different contingency plans, just in case his favored scenario didn’t work.

“What makes you so sure that his cover’s not been blown?” Kono asks.

“I’m not,” Chin says, and he runs a hand through his hair.

He’s tired. They all are, and Steve knows that Chin’s nursing a wound as well, probably has his own little, brown bottle of pills that’ll be making the trip to the mainland.

“But, we have to go there, operating under the assumptions that: a. Danny’s alive, and b. whether his cover’s intact or not, we’re going to find him before anyone else does.” Chin’s voice is calm, almost chillingly so.

“So, we go in --” Steve pauses to think, presses his thumbs to his temples, because his head still aches, and he refuses to take any of those pills just yet. He’ll take them when they’re in the air.

“We go in with the goal of keeping Danny’s cover,” Chin says.

“Even though we don’t know what it is, or who he’s working for?” Kono asks, though Steve can tell by the grim smile on her face that she’s warming up to the prospect of being undercover herself, because that’s what they’ll have to do to maintain Danny’s cover, whatever the hell it is.

Chin nods. “We’ll have to play this cool. No going off half-cocked.” He looks long and hard at Steve.

“Fine,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest, the skin pulling where it’s been stitched. “We’ll work out a plan on the plane.”

Chin nods, and leads the way. They’ve got a police escort to the airport, and Chin’s managed to get them first class seats, near the front of the plane, away from the other passengers. It’s going to be a long flight, and Steve has a feeling that none of them are going to get any sleep, even though they all need it.

 


	12. Out of Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny doesn't understand what's going on; why he's in the E.R., why no one has told him to get out, or why one doctor refuses to give up on the dead man lying on a blood soaked gurney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters came to me, virtually simultaneously, and I wasn't sure which one to post first; didn't have time to finish either of them until today. I think, given the nature of this one, and the next one, this chapter should be posted first. I will post the next one soonish and will work on yet another chapter of this ever-increasing story arc. Plot bunnies are not our friends. They are vermin, and they need to be made into hasenpfeffer. Though, I guess I'll let you be the judge of that. Much thanks to those who've been so wonderfully supportive. Reviews mean the world to me.
> 
> I'm not a doctor or a nurse; I don't even play one on TV, so please, take what I write with a grain of salt ( I did a mini-research, and found a cool research paper about the success rate of open heart massage on canines - it does translate to humans as well, I believe - a h a journals content / 75 /2 / 498. full. pdf - because I'm a geek).
> 
> I have had an out of body experience, it was not nearly as traumatic as the one which follows.

"Call it, doctor," one of the nurses says.

She's surrounded by light that's too bright and her face is obscured by it. Danny can't get a clear look at her from his vantage point.

There's no emotion in her voice, and Danny gets the distinct impression that she's been having one of those days where whatever can go wrong has gone wrong. He knows days like that. Has lived through his fair share of them, and, if he's not mistaken, today has been one of those days for him as well.

It had been one shitty thing after another. Missing his daughter's birthday, getting shot down in the alley by a man he should have been able to trust.

"He's gone. We've done all we can; it's time to call it," the nurse says.

It's clear that she's been through this countless times before, has witnessed an untold amount of deaths over her tenure as a nurse. Danny doesn't envy her. Doesn't envy the doctor who doesn't appear to be listening, because he continues to work on the body splayed open on the gurney.

Danny can't get a clear look at the doctor's face either. It's obscured by the light and by the mask on the man's face. His hands are wrist-deep in the poor, dead man's chest cavity, and Danny wonders why he doesn't call it yet, what keeps the man working when it's clear to everyone else, Danny included, that there's no life left to preserve.

"Just gotta find that bleeder," the doctor mutters, and he shrugs at a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek.

Danny gets the impression, by the nurse's impatient sigh, that this is just one death of many. Danny's afraid to look too closely at the face of the dead man. Afraid to see who it is that the nurse is talking about. Who the man lying on the gurney with his chest cracked wide open is.

There's blood everywhere. On the floor, the walls, the doctors' blue scrubs - there are three of them, only one is still working on the dead man - the white masks that they wear. Their gloves are coated with it and Danny wants to look away, but he can't. He can't look away.

He's oddly detached, floating above it all, and it's eerie. Danny knows that he shouldn't be floating. That his body shouldn't feel this light, that there's something wrong about it all. He gets the feeling - a persistent niggling that starts at the back of his neck and claws its way through to his gut - that he shouldn't be where he is at all, that he should be somewhere else.

And there's a loud, keening sound. It reminds Danny of the annoying car alarm that's been going off in his neighborhood for the past several weeks at three in the morning, every morning. He wants to find the source of the sound and end it, once and for all. Wants to strangle the son-of-a-bitch car owner, because he can't get a decent night's sleep. Hasn't gotten a decent night's sleep since he left Hawaii; left Steve.

The impression that he's not where he should be gets stronger, and Danny tries to move, tries to go somewhere else, wonders why the doctors and the nurses haven't shooed him out of the room in the first place. He shouldn't be in there, above all of the action that's taking place in the busy ER, but he is, and he's powerless to move anywhere else.

And he misses Steve, misses the way that the man's hands move along Danny's spine, caressing the tense muscles when he's had a long day, and his body aches. Misses how gentle and firm Steve's fingers can be as they work the muscles loose, and Danny's aches give way to pleasure.

"Doctor," the nurse says. Her voice sharp, and it snaps Danny out of his memory, and then Danny does look down at the poor sap on the gurney, as if compelled to.

He's struck with a strong wave of vertigo, and for several long moments, Danny's not sure which way is up. Panicking at what he's seeing, Danny can't look away, can't stop staring down at the body on the gurney even though he wants to.

It's him, and yet it can't be him, because he's not there, he's here, and he's floating above it all, and he wants Steve to bring him back down, to dig his long fingers into the knots in Danny's back and knead them until they're gone.

The body on the gurney is too broken to be him. Too bloody. Too skinny. Skin's too pale, and the eyes are lifeless. The heart's a lopsided unbeating mess,and it can't be him, because if it is him, then that means that he's dead. He's dead and he never got to say goodbye to his little girl, never got to tell Steve that he was sorry. Never got a chance to make things right.

There was a part of him - before he'd seen what he hadn't wanted to see - that had feared it was Steven on that table. Seeing himself, instead of Steve, doesn't ease any of his anxiety, doesn't make him any less freaked.

Danny thinks, for a moment, that maybe this isn't real. That he's dreaming, and, any minute, he'll wake to the sound of his daughter's voice calling his name, and Steve pinning him to the bed to steal a kiss before they get up to face the day.

He's dreaming, and, any moment now, he's going to wake up next to Steve - the past five months will have been nothing but a terrible nightmare, because he's dreaming.

But, he's not dreaming, and the doctor's not listening and Danny watches as the man wraps his fingers around the unbeating heart and squeezes. Presses a hand to his own chest, and feels nothing.

"Either move out of my way, Eileen, or help," the doctor says. "I'm not losing another one tonight."

They stare at each other, the doctor and the nurse, for several tense seconds, the doctor never faltering in his massage of Danny's dead heart. Finally, with a curt nod, Eileen starts to work the bag, pushing much needed oxygen into Danny's lungs every so often.

And, above it all, feeling like a chicken with its head cut off, Danny watches. He thinks that there must be something that he's forgetting to do, something he should be doing, something he's heard on one of those late night TV shows he'd had on for background noise when he couldn't sleep, but nothing comes to mind.

"I'll give you five minutes, doctor," she says, eye on the clock. "And then you call it."

The doctor nods, keeps up with the massage. His eyes are locked, not on the clock, or the nurse, but on Danny's face.

"Someone, find that bleeder," the doctor says, and the other two doctors scramble to work on the dead man. "Plug the hole."

"We can't save them all, John," Eileen says, her voice gentling. "He's been in cardiac rest since before he arrived at our E.R.."

"But the paramedics got him back," John says, wiping sweat off his brow with his shoulder.

"And then he crashed," Eileen remains persistent. "We can't -"

"Damn it, Eileen." John looks up, briefly, and Danny can see determination in the doctor's eyes. "I'm not going to lose this one."

Eileen arches a brow, but says nothing, just keeps up with the manual act of breathing for Danny, with her eye on the clock. It's clear to Danny that she's not hopeful, that Eileen thinks John's being foolish, and wasting valuable time.

Danny can't help but think that maybe she's right, because he doesn't feel any connection to his own body. Has no intense desire to hop back into it, and there's no distinct pull for him to return to the land of the living.

Funny, he doesn't feel dead. But, then again, he doesn't feel anything, not the stubborn doctor's hand on his heart, or the other doctors' hands inside of his chest, nor the air being pushed, begrudgingly into his lungs.

There's simply nothing. Just a longing for Steve, a guilty twist of the gut when he thinks about his daughter, Grace.

He chances a look around the room, half fearful of what he'll see, and is only mildly relieved when he doesn't see a tunnel or a light anywhere in the room. It's just him, Eileen, John and a couple of other doctors and nurses scurrying around, trying to save lives.

The minute hand inches one tick closer to the mark Eileen has set, and suddenly Danny's simply gone.


	13. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a nightmare that feels all too real. Chin and Kono have a talk with Steve about him and Danny, and about how what is going on is not just about the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My summary seems rather confusing. Hopefully it is not. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all of the wonderful support. :-) I hope that this 'twin' chapter fits well here.

Steve wakes with a start, heart racing, palms sweating. Chin's staring at the screen of the borrowed laptop, frowning, face eerily lit by the soft, bluish glow of the monitor. Kono's snoring, face pressed against the window of the plane, a thin line of drool making a trail from the corner of her lip to her chin. But Steve's mind doesn't register any of this because of the horrific vision that his mind's still trapped in.

It's not until the plane jerks and shakes a little, that Steve realizes that he had been sleeping - that he hadn't, seconds ago, been at a hospital, identifying Danny's body to some faceless medical examiner. He closes his eyes, presses his fingertips to his temples and wills his heart to slow down, because it had only been a dream.

It had only been a dream, and yet Steve can't seem to shake it. Can't get the image of Danny that his subconscious had supplied for him out of his mind. Lips a light, purplish blue. Skin a sickly grey, and powdery. Blue eyes open and dull in death, covered by a thick, milky white film.

Danny's chest's cracked open still - the medical examiner having just finished the autopsy, determining the cause of death to be multiple gunshot wounds -heart and lungs displayed for all to see; ribs broken and pried apart, the edges of the bones sharp enough to cut through skin.

Steve had stood there, in his dream, struck dumb, unable to move forward. Unable to identify the body that was laying on the cold, metal table, even though he knew that it was Danny.

Without even needing to look at the body, Steve had known. Had known it as his feet had led him, inexorably, down the long, dark hallway that ended abruptly in front of the gurney that Danny's body was lying on. Had felt a keen sense of loss - like a thousand punches to the gut - before the blood-stained sheet had been lifted and Danny's face - his broken body - had been revealed.

He'd almost gagged, almost fell, had stumbled forward and clutched the edge of the silver gurney. Flooded by the horrible sense that he'd been too late, Steve had simply stood there and stared.

It had felt so real. The details had been so vivid - Steve had even been able to smell the antiseptic of the hospital, the unmistakable stench of death. The bright hospital lights had even flickered overhead, had burned his eyes, made him blink rapidly to keep the black spots from dancing in front of them.

"Steve," Chin whispers, placing a hand on Steve's arm, grounding him. "You alright?"

Steve scrubs a hand down his face, swallows past a lump in his throat, and nods. Except, he's not alright. Still feels the keen sense of loss that he'd felt during the dream. The nightmare. Wonders if it means what he fears it does - that Danny's dead.

"It'll be okay," Chin says. "We're landing in little under an hour. We'll find him."

"I just hope it's not too late when we do," Steve says, rubbing his eyes. He's tired, and his head aches, and he can't get the image of Danny, cold, dead and broken, out of his mind.

"Wha-" Kono wakes with a snort, and then frowns, wipes at the drool on her mouth. She rubs her spittle on Steve's sleeve, and grins at him when he scowls at her.

"We there yet?" she asks, wiping the sleep from her eyes and yawning.

In other circumstances, Steve might be inclined to find something like that endearing, but he's still got an image of Danny's dead body in his mind and that's warping everything else. Making him on edge.

"What's wrong?" Kono asks, picking up on Steve's mood.

"Nightmare," Chin supplies, leaning forward so that he can catch his cousin's eye around Steve.

"About Danny?" Kono turns concerned eyes on Steve, all traces of sleep gone from her face as she sweeps her hair up into a ponytail.

Steve clenches his jaw and nods. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to think about it. He just wants the plane to land so that he can get to Danny before his dream comes true. Though Steve knows that his presence alone won't be enough to keep Danny alive, he thinks that it will help give Danny a fighting chance, has to believe that it will. That Danny won't give up when he knows that Steve is there, by his side.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Kono says, and she reaches for his hand, holds it. "We're going to get him back." Her voice is fierce and sure, all the things that Steve is not right now. He's lost and floundering and completely at sea. Has been that way since Danny's left, but has been too stubborn and prideful to admit it.

"I can't lose him," Steve says, hating how vulnerable the confession makes him feel, and how he fears that, in many ways, he already has lost Danny. First to the box, and now to this, whatever the hell _this i_ s.

Kono squeezes his hand. "You won't," she promises, and there are tears in her eyes.

"And, this time, when we get our Danny back, he won't be leaving us again," Kono states the words as though they are non-negotiable, as though no one else has any say, including Danny himself.

"And you two are going to have to stop being so bullheaded," Kono adds, smacking Steve's shoulder. "I can't go through something like this again. I can't, and neither can Chin. I know that you think that what you and Danny have going on is just between the two of you, but it isn't. Not by a long shot. You're family. Danny's family. Whatever hurts you, hurts _us_." Kono squeezes Steve's hand to emphasize her words, and he almost winces.

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but he snaps it shut again when he looks to Chin and finds the man nodding soberly.

"She's right. I care about you, and I care about Danny. The two of you are like water and oil half the time, but for some reason it works. You work. When one of you is gone; however, the other is lost. You can't stand alone, and neither can Danny," Chin says. "You need each other, and the sooner both of you realize that, the better off all of us will be."

"No more not talking," Kono says, poking Steve in the gut. "No more brooding." Another poke. "No more being stoic and stupid." Two more pokes, and Steve feels like a pincushion. He catches Kono's wrist before she can poke him again, and glares at her.

"I -" Steve opens his mouth to protest, because what he does, how he chooses to handle his relationships, is not anyone else's business, but his own.

"No, Steve," Chin says. "This isn't just about you. It has never been just about you and Danny. This is about o'hana, about our task force. It's as much about Kono and I as it is about you and Danny. When one of us is hurting, all of us is hurting. And as my little cousin is trying to say, enough is enough. Cut out all of this macho crap and tell Danny that you need him, and that, no matter what, you'll be there for him. Once you get him back, and you will get him back, don't let him go."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and locks his jaw. He glares straight ahead, because right now he doesn't want to look at either of the cousins. He knows they're right, that, he, as much as Danny, is to blame for what's happened - he could have, should have, gone after Danny when the man had left.

At the time, he'd reasoned that he'd just been giving Danny his space, that Danny would come back to him when he was ready. The problem was, Danny hadn't come back, and Steve had let the pain and anger over Danny running away from him fester until it had grown into something ugly. Something that he didn't even want to look at, let alone confess to anyone, not even himself.

He'd thrown himself into harm's way when he'd chased down Silva. Had thrown Chin and Kono into harm's way as well, and the entire time, he'd blamed Danny for it. Had blamed Danny for every stupid chance that he'd taken, for every foolish thing he'd said and done since Danny had left - and there had been plenty of those, aside from the Silva case.

In short, Steve had blamed Danny for everything, and had justified not calling to check up on the man because of it. He'd take that worn note of Danny's out of his pocket and re-read it after doing something particularly stupid, fold it up again and let his heart grow hard, vow not to make that phone call, even though his fingers were itching to, because he'd wanted Danny to break first. He'd spent the past five or so months waiting for Danny to break, and then had been angry when Danny hadn't broken before he had.

And now? Now, Danny might be dead.

"I know he hurt you, Steve," Chin says, his voice soft. "But now's not the time to revisit the past. You've got to decide what you're going to do from here on out."

"And if Danny doesn't want anything to do with me?" Steve asks, not wanting to voice his fear that Danny's dead.

"Then you've got to decide how you're going to go on living the rest of your life without him," Chin says. His voice is soft and strained, and Steve knows that he's thinking about Malia, and he wants to kick himself, because of what he and Danny, in their stubborn pride, have inadvertently put the older man through.

"I'm sorry, Chin," Steve says.

"If you get another chance with Danny," Chin says, voice cracking. "Don't blow it. Don't be as stubborn and pigheaded as I was with Malia. Don't let your pride, or his pride, get in the way. You've given Danny his space, and maybe he needed it. Don't make the same mistake as I did, Steve. Don't let Danny go without a fight."

"Whatever time you have left with Danny," Kono adds softly. "Treasure it. Don't take it for granted, no matter how much or little of it you get."

Steve knows that her own heart is raw and aching, and he wants to rewind time. Wants to undo what's been done. Wants to chase after Danny when he'd had the chance. Wants to tell Danny that he needs him, has always needed him, and that Danny doesn't have to be perfect. He doesn't have to hide away those dark places inside of himself, doesn't need to run away to get the space that he needs, because Steve is willing to give it to him, all he has to do is ask.

Except, it's too late, and Steve can't rewind time. Can't quite shake the nightmarish image of Danny dead, blue eyes open and staring at nothing, that his dream had given him.

"There's no time for regrets," Chin says. "You'll waste opportunity and life if you give them a foothold."

Steve nods. He knows Chin and Kono are right. He only hopes that he will have that opportunity, that second chance, to make things right. To tell Danny that he loves him, and to never let him go.

Steve is reminded of the old adage: "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be."

He'd seen it on a butterfly poster once, a long time ago. As a matter of fact, it had been on a wall in Mary's room, and she'd espoused the veracity of the saying. Had bemoaned some lost love, but then written it off as something that was not, 'meant to be,' because her love of the week had not come back to her. Steve had thought it silly at the time, had teased her over it, but hadn't he done that same thing with Danny?

_Fuck that butterfly shit_ , Steve thinks _._ Butterflies are fickle, flighty creatures. Letting them go doesn't ensure that they'll ever be back, because it's in their nature to follow the wind and their own whims. Danny's nothing like them, and love should never be let go of in the first place. It should be held onto, in a tight fist, for as long as one can hold onto it.


	14. Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chin tries to reconcile what he's seeing with what he knows about Danny. None of it adds up, and he's got to make sure that Steve takes care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chin's point-of-view, because he wanted one, in his quiet way.
> 
> Not sure if anyone out there is still reading this or not, but I felt like finishing this chapter and posting. Please forgive any errors, or oddities. Mahalo

Chin doesn’t like what he’s finding when he looks into Danny’s undercover operation -- more like disappearance -- opts not to share what he’s found with Steve, or Kono, just yet. It’d just get their blood boiling, and it’s not important right now. Not something that either of them need to get worked up about right now.

What _is_ important is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to too many machines to keep track of.

Steve’s sitting in a chair beside Danny’s bed, his hand linked with one of Danny’s, forehead pressed to the cool metal of the bed’s railing. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept, hasn’t moved a muscle since they got there a couple of hours ago, and Chin gives him twenty, maybe forty minutes tops before Steve finally has to answer the call of nature.

The doctor who’d brought Danny back to life had apparently performed nothing short of a miracle, if the hospital gossip is to be believed, and, looking at Danny so still and pale, a shadow of his former self, Chin’s inclined to believe the gossip.

Danny’s chest is a mess held together with nothing but staples and surgical tape. His skin’s just one shade short of being blue, and his hair...it’s short and dark, cropped a lot like Steve wears his.

The hair was the first thing that Chin had noted about Danny when they’d found him, though it shouldn’t have been. Not when stacked against all of the other differences -- the tattoo that Danny’s sporting on his bicep, some military thing according to Steve; the new scar, months old, that goes from Danny’s temple to his jaw; Danny’s overall thinness that makes him look more sickly than lean at the moment.

It’s clear to Chin that Danny’s a different man, and he wonders what will happen if -- when -- Danny wakes up. The doctor hadn’t made any promises about Danny’s recovery, had been hesitant to tell them anything until he’d seen Steve’s knees buckle on his approach to Danny’s side. The doctor had made assumptions at that point, and Chin had let him, hadn’t bothered to initiate their cover, because no one else appeared to be lurking around the hospital, looking for Danny.

It hadn’t been easy finding Danny. He’d been listed at the hospital as a John Doe, because there’d been no ID on him, and the paramedics who’d brought him in had been strapped for time, hadn’t been able to shed any light on who the man was as they were on their way to another call.

Oddly, it had been Kono who’d found Danny first, and she’d stood, rooted to the spot outside of the room that Danny shared with another John Doe. A small, horrified sounding squeak had issued from her mouth, and she’d instantly clapped a hand over it, her eyes brimming with tears. Chin wondered how she’d recognized the man. Hadn’t questioned her. Steve had rushed into the room. Hadn’t moved since.

“Steve, why don’t you go get a bite to eat,” Chin suggests softly, hand on Steve’s shoulder, drawing the man’s attention away from Danny for a brief moment.

There’s a puzzled, almost disconnected look on Steve’s face, like the man doesn’t recognize him, and Steve takes a deep breath, shakes his head, turns his eyes back to Danny.

“I’m good,” Steve says, voice gravelly.

“Steve, I’ll sit with him,” Chin insists, forces Steve to look at him. “Go, eat, stretch your legs, shower. Take a few minutes for yourself. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

They’re not using Danny’s name, just in case someone is looking for him. Chin still hasn’t learned the full details of Danny’s undercover assignment. He’s uncovered a few things, and doesn’t like what he’s found -- dirty cops and mobsters, and a corrupt police chief.

It’s clear, in what he hasn’t found, that Danny was neck deep in something that someone was willing to kill him for -- _had_ almost killed him for  -- and Chin isn’t sure whether Danny knew everything that was going on or not. Just how far undercover _was_ Danny? Chin wonders.

A call to the governor had ensured that they had the time off -- a leave of absence, with pay, not an indefinite amount of time, but time. He was giving them a few weeks to bring Danny back.

Danny wasn’t going to be ready to return to Hawaii in a few weeks. Might not be ready to return to Hawaii, ever.

“Steve, take a break,” Chin says, pulls Steve upright, ignores the way that Steve falters on his feet. “Get something to eat, take a shower. He’ll be here when you get back. Promise.”

Steve doesn’t move. Stands there, a crestfallen look on his face. He’s still clutching Danny’s hand, and Chin doesn’t think he’s seen the man look as broken as he does now.

“Steve...” Chin looks toward his cousin for help. Kono’s sitting in a chair on the opposite side of Danny. They’d earned a private room for Danny in the ICU, after Chin had quietly explained a little of the situation to the doctor. Given Steve’s very real devastation, the doctor had needed very little by way of convincing.

Kono stands, stretches, works the kinks out of her backs, stifles a yawn with the back of her hand. She walks over to them, eyes locked on Steve, she reaches for the hand that he’s got linked with Danny’s, tugs it loose.

“I...” Steve closes his eyes, his face crumpling.

“Steve, he isn’t going anywhere,” Kono says, her words stronger than Chin feels at this moment.

“I just...” Steve’s eyes are filled with tears, and it’s so unlike him that Chin feels like he’s been sucker punched.

“He’s not going to die just because you leave to take a piss,” Kono says, her voice teasing, and yet hard.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and gives Kono a stricken look. It feels, to Chin, like the world is turning in the opposite direction and he doesn’t like it.

“I know,” he says, but the way that he’s looking at Danny proves to Chin that Steve doesn’t know that at all.

“Steve,” Chin tries again, places a hand on Steve’s back, attempts to steer him toward the door. “Kono and I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“I...” Steve opens his mouth, closes it, lets Chin guide him away from Danny, though he cranes his neck, keeps his eyes on Danny until the door shuts behind him.

“I understand, Steve,” Chin says, and he does. Knows that if it was Malia in there, no one would be able to tear him away from her side; feels like an ass for pulling Steve from Danny’s side, knows that he’d have wanted Steve, or Danny, to do the same for him, had their roles been reversed.

“I can’t stop thinking about how stupid I was,” Steve says. “How stupid he was for doing this.”

“Beating yourself up over what happened isn’t going to fix it.” Chin wishes that he wasn’t speaking from experience. “Right now, you need to take care of yourself, so that you can take care of him when the time comes. And this time --”

“I’m not letting him go,” Steve says, voice hard, jaw squared. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Steve, he made the choice to leave. You couldn’t have stopped him,” Chin says, remembering when he’d made that choice with Malia. How hard it had been for him to do that, and how, after they’d reconciled, the separation had, indeed, as the saying goes, made the heart grow fonder.

“I don’t know what to do.” Steve sounds lost, almost like a child. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“For now, wash up, get something to eat, and then go back, sit beside him and wait, but, don’t give up hope,” Chin says. He wishes that his own hope hadn’t died, but doesn’t begrudge Steve Danny.

Steve nods, lets Chin lead him away from Danny’s room.

“You find anything out about what he was doing here?” Steve asks, jaw twitching.

Chin nods, holds a hand up to forestall a barrage of questions. “It can wait. I’m still looking into it, but it looks like he was in pretty deep. We’ll need to stay alert. Take turns keeping watch.”

“I just want to gather him up and take him home,” Steve says tiredly.

Chin doesn’t blame him. It would make it easier for them to keep Danny safe, but he doubts Danny, in his current condition, would survive the journey.

“I know,” Chin says, keeping his voice light. “Soon, Steve.”

“Think he’ll want to come back?” Steve isn’t looking at him. He’s staring straight ahead, and Chin gets the impression that Steve’s steeling himself for the answer.

“Yeah,” Chin says. “I think he will.” He’s not placating the man. Is banking on the fact that, with his dying breath, Danny’s call to Steve is proof enough of Danny’s desire to return home, return to Steve.

Steve sighs, nods, and Chin hopes that he’s not wrong. That he hasn’t built Steve up, only to have the world come crashing down around him again.


	15. Long Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's having the same dream over and over again, wonders the dead are haunted by the living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired, in part, by Kevin MacLeod's song, "Long Road Ahead."
> 
> Thanks so much, again, for all of the wonderful support -keeps me writing. 
> 
> Again...stream-of-consciousness seems to be how Danny's side of the story wants to be told. 
> 
> I feel like Steve would say Danny's name at this point, that, after a week and a half, they would have made some progress on figuring out some details of the undercover operation that Danny was involved in, and have a plan to keep Danny safe. None of this is actually written in this chapter, so, I thought I would announce that...just so people don't think that I'm unaware of what I wrote in the previous chapter about Steve, Chin and Kono not saying Danny's name. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter. As per usual, I am worried about whether or not it is good. (please forgive any grammatical, or medical errors that you find herein) Mahalo

[Long Road Ahead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6-iF0L0jvs)

It’s a familiar dream. One that Danny’s had dozens -- thousands -- of times.

It always starts the same.

With Steve.

Sitting beside him, touching, talking -- his words indistinct, mere murmurs that tickle at Danny’s ears, but don’t actually make sense.

Pressing soft kisses to his face, his collarbone, Steve’s lips -- warm, dry, rough like sandpaper. His breath a comfort that keeps Danny grounded, helps him stay sane. Takes away the pain.

Reminds him of home.

The dream ends the same, too.

With Danny.

Alone.

Cold.

Confused.

It’s never satisfying.

Always leaves him wanting more.

Feeling like he’s being burnt alive.

Trying to hang onto sanity, like he’s carrying water, uphill, in a sieve, Danny waits in the dark-nothing that comes when Steve’s part in this unending dream is over.

And he misses Steve so much that his heart actually hurts. Feels like his chest’s been cracked open, his heart plucked out and squeezed tight enough to make it bruise.

Makes him wonder if his mind is stuck on some kind of endless loop. A dream that’s going to play over and over again until he finally dies.

He’s Bill Murray, and Steve’s Andie MacDowell. And, somewhere, lurking in its deep, dark hole, ready to pop up at any time, is Punxsutawney Phil.

It’s not a comforting thought, but then Steve’s there.

Again.

Lips brushing Danny’s forehead, featherlight, like the butterfly kisses that Danny shares with Grace.

Steve’s hand is solid and strong, grips Danny’s hand so tight that Danny thinks, maybe, if Steve could hold onto him for just a little while longer, the man could pull him right out of this dream.

End the loop once and for all.

Give good old Phil a run for his money. No more lonely, hard, cold winter nights for Danny.

But then, Steve’s hand slips away; his grip not as solid as Danny’d thought it was.

And that’s when he remembers. His next sharp breath, making it impossible for him to forget, because his lungs are filled with acid, and he’s a stupid, selfish asshole.

He left.

Steve’s not here.

Steve’s in Hawaii. Stuffing live grenades in glove compartments, swimming nude beneath the cool light of the moon, fucking someone else -- Catherine, or Chin, or maybe that hot waitress who’d caught both of their eye that one night not too long-forever-ago now.

Danny’s mind reels.

His head aches.

His heart feels like it’s bleeding, and he wonders that he can feel anything at all, because dead men don’t think. Don’t feel. Don’t dream.

“Danno.” The name, Steve’s voice, comes to Danny from thousands of miles away.

Floats on the waters, flies with the winds. Gets lost in the space between there and here, and yet it finds him.

It’s insistent.

Steve’s voice.

Says his name again.

“Danno.”

And again-again-again...

Until it’s one long, drawn out, neverending word that Danny thinks he’ll never stop hearing.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

Danny sighs. Tries to turn away from the sound of Steve’s voice, because, as much as he hates this unending dream, he’s still tired, and his body still aches, and Steve is such an early riser.

Danny likes to sleep in. Likes to eat fresh malasadas from Leonard’s Bakery, downtown, while they’re still hot enough to burn his fingers, turn the tips of them red. And he likes to suck off the cinnamon sugar mixture, loves to offer his sugary fingers to Steve, who, no matter what his stance on ‘junk food’ is, never turns them down.

“C’mon, Danno.” Steve’s voice is an annoying alarm clock, or the rooster that lives two houses down from Steve’s. Danny wants to shoot it, but Steve won’t let him.

There’s no pillow to pull over his head in death, and Danny can’t escape the sound of Steve’s voice. Wonders, briefly, why he’d want to, because he thinks that maybe this is his little bit of heaven in Hell.

“Danno.”

Steve. Danny thinks he says the name. Doesn’t know if it made it past his lips. Doesn’t know what his lips feel like, if they even exist anymore. Do lips exist in death?

“Danno, you’re not dead.”

Steve’s always had a hard time accepting cold, hard facts. Refuses to give up on lost causes. Like a dog after a bone. Scratch that, like a smooth dog after a bone.

“Very funny, Danny.”

Steve’s amused. It takes a lot to make him laugh. And it’s usually not stupid jokes -- Danny’s spot-on imitation of the Governor, when he knows the man’s not looking; a well-timed punchline; a tongue-in-cheek pun -- that make Steve laugh. No, it’s candid moments -- times when Danny’s least aware that Steve’s watching him -- that make the man smile, or give rise to laughter.

Press of lips to Danny’s forehead, soft, yet firm squeeze of fingers. Steve’s chin is scratchy, his hand’s warm.

“Yeah, I need to shave, Danno.”

Steve’s voice is rough.

Closer.

“And, you, need to wake up.”

Danny wants five more minutes. Maybe five more years.

“None of that, D.”  

Steve’s fingers grip Danny’s chin, and, and, and...Danny can’t breathe, because Steve’s eyes -- hazel, rimmed with red -- are staring at him. Lips slightly parted, quirked upward at the edges.

Steve’s got the most beautiful smile in the world, and Danny can’t tear his eyes away from the man’s face, drinks in Steve’s eyes, the scruffy not-quite beard that’s clinging to the man’s chin, and Steve’s lips.

“Breathe, Danno,” Steve’s lips move.

Danny can hear him.

Understands, even.

But he can’t breathe, because this isn’t his dream.

Steve is real. His fingers, his lips, his furrowed brows.

Steve is real, and Danny isn’t dead.

Or maybe he is dead, and Steve is haunting him.

That would be quite a twist for someone to write -- the dead being haunted by the living. Turning the supernatural world on its head, or its ass. Either way, it’s making Danny dizzy, and he still can’t breathe.

“Hey.” Steve cups Danny’s cheeks with his hands, leans in close, and Danny can see worry lines etched around the man’s eyes and mouth. “Take it easy, Danno. You’re okay.”

You’re...”real?” Danny meant to voice both words, can only hear one of them.

“Yeah, D, I’m real.” Steve’s lips turn upward, a smile that’s accompanied by a quick, chaste kiss that Steve plants on his nose.

“I’ve got to move over so the doctor can take a look at you,” Steve says, and Danny struggles to keep his eyes open, struggles not to lose the tentative hold that he’s got on the world of the living -- Steve’s hand, snagged in his own when the man moves to leave.

“Shh, hey.” Steve’s face looms in front of him, and Danny doesn’t care if he looks like the world’s biggest baby right now. He can feel the tears leaking from his eyes, and he refuses to let go of Steve, not now that he knows that Steve isn’t a dream.

“Stay.” And Danny thinks he should recognize that voice, he can’t quite place it. “I’ll work around you. Keep him calm. Keep talking to him.”

“It’s good that he’s awake, right?” Steve’s not looking at him, not talking to him, and Danny tugs on Steve’s hand, draws Steve’s attention back to him, because he needs it. Danny needs Steve. Needs to know that this is real. That he’s not dead. That this isn’t dream-Steve.

“It’s a very good sign.” The voice Danny knows, but doesn’t know, says. “He’s not out of the woods yet, though.”

“But he’s awake.” Steve’s got that stubborn, constipated look on his face. Danny wants to laugh; can’t find breath enough to do it.

“Yes, but...”

“That means he’s better,” Steve insists, eyes staring intently into Danny’s, as though he’s arguing with Danny and not the doctor.

The doctor sighs, and Danny catches a glimpse of the man running a hand through his untidy hair. The doctor nods, and takes a deep breath.

“Better, yes,” the doctor says, and Danny thinks that maybe his name is John. He sounds tired.

Steve’s grin makes Danny’s heart jump into his throat, and damn, but that hurts.

Alive.

Definitely alive.

Alive and in pain.  

“Easy,” the doctor’s face usurps Steve’s, though Danny doesn’t relinquish the hold that he’s got on Steve’s fingers. “You’re recovering from an open-heart massage, and thoracic surgery. Just focus on your partner, focus on breathing, okay?”

Danny swallows, nods, catches Steve’s eye over the doctor’s head.

He goes momentarily blind, though, when the doctor starts to examine him. Can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything other than try to ride out the intense pain.

"What the hell?" Steve's voice is a beacon, and Danny focuses on it.

"I'll administer something for the pain," the doctor, John, says, though he doesn't stop his painful examination.

When the pain becomes too much to bear, Danny places willfully himself in the box he'd so despised what now seems like a lifetime ago.

Feels Steve's fingers, even in the box, which is far better than the pain right now. Listens for Steve's voice.

The pain ebbs, slightly. It's still there, somewhere at the back of Danny's mind, but it's no longer blinding him, no longer making it impossible for him to breathe, and he wonders if this is what it means to compartmentalize. If this is similar to what Steve does whenever he gets injured. If this is what makes Steve appear to be super human at times.

"You okay, Danno?" Steve's there, inside the box. His eyes are sharp, alert, comforting.

"Fine," Danny manages, breathes a little easier when Steve squeezes his hand.

"Almost done here."

Danny's ninety percent sure that the doctor's name is John. Remembers, he thinks, the man literally holding his heart in his hands, making it beat again.

"Thank you," Danny says, forcing himself to look away from Steve for a split second, so that John will understand that he's talking to him, and not the imposing man towering over the both of them.

"Just doing my job," John says, sparing Danny a brief smile, before adjusting something on one of the machines that Danny's hooked up to.

Danny knows that it was more than that. That John saved his life. That, if it had been any other doctor in the ER that day, he'd be dead. He wouldn't have a second chance with Steve. Wouldn't have a chance to make things right.

A sudden spike of pain causes Danny to lose his focus, and he nearly doubles over, but then, almost as suddenly as it hit him, it’s gone. Steve is there, coaxing him to breathe through the pain, one hand on Danny’s shoulder, the other still gripping Danny’s hand tight enough to make Danny’s fingers go numb.

“Alright,” John says. “I’m done here.”

Danny can see the shadows under the man’s eyes. Knows that John is probably burning the candle at both ends. Still, he offers Danny and Steve a smile.

“You know, for a man who was dead a week and a half ago, you’re doing surprisingly well.” He pats Danny’s knee, and presses a button near Danny’s hand, and the pain subsides.

“You should get some rest,” John says. He’s looking at Steve, squeezes Danny’s knee. “I’m not going to lie to you; you’ve got a long way to go yet, and it won’t be easy.”

Steve frowns and nods. “I’ll be with you the whole way,” he says, voice quiet, and strained. “That is, if you’ll let me.”

There’s a measure of doubt in Steve’s eyes, and Danny’s heart clenches. He swallows past the sudden lump that’s formed in his throat and nods. Works at forming the necessary words, the apologies that have been a long time in coming, but he’s swiftly overcome with exhaustion -- whatever pain medication the doctor had administered with the press of a button is working fast -- his eyelids droop, and the words get stuck somewhere at the back of his throat.

“It’s okay, Danno, sleep,” Steve says, a hand pressed to Danny’s cheek, the other still gripping Danny’s hand tight. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

It’s a promise.

Something for Danny to cling to.

He’s missed Steve. Missed what a simple touch from the man that he loves can do -- how much warmth and healing it can bring. He falls asleep, knows that it is sleep he’s falling into and not death.

Feels the press of Steve’s lips to his forehead, his lips, his fingers. Knows that, like the doctor said, he’s still got a long road ahead of him, but that he won’t have to walk that road alone, no matter how much he deserves to.


	16. Penny Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kono talks with Danny while Chin and Steve are out investigating Danny's shooting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, again, for all of those who've been supportive of this really long story arc/bunny plot. It is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I hope that this chapter is good, and that you enjoy it. I'm working on the next two. 
> 
> Thank you!

The box had nearly claimed his life, and now Danny finds himself taking refuge in it, whenever the pain becomes too much - his mind's very close approximation of it, that is, he knows it's not real. Not anymore.

It's odd and mildly disturbing how easy it is for his mind to conjure up the walls that he'd hated so much. The very walls that had driven a wedge between him and Steve, were now a place of refuge in Danny's mind.

"Penny for your thoughts," Kono says, voice bright. Danny can see the pent up energy thrumming through her veins in the way that her right leg is bouncing, her left hand twitching in her lap.

"Just thinking," Danny says.

"About what?" Kono practically jumps out of the chair Steve had vacated an hour and a half ago, and skips to his side. It's almost overwhelming, how much energy the young woman has, in spite of the dark circles she's got beneath her eyes.

Danny shrugs, uncertain about sharing any of this with Kono. He isn't entirely sure how to put it into words, wants to talk it over with Steve first, see if he's going crazy.

Kono purses her lips in a pout and tugs her hair up into a loose ponytail. Danny's fingers itch to fix it, to pull the strangling pieces in and bind them within the rubber band Kono had used to secure her hair with. He misses Grace.

Kono sighs, a little over dramatically, and jumps up onto the edge of Danny's hospital bed. He hisses in pain, and she sends him a brief, apologetic look that is soon surpassed by a smile.

"I'm bored," Kono says, sighing again.

She plays with a thread on her cargo pants, works it free and dangles it in the air before letting it go and watching it float to the floor, eyes squinting in concentration. She nearly falls off the edge of the bed, and Danny catches the back of her shirt with a hand, breathes through the pain that cuts across his chest at the move.

"Sorry, Danny," Kono says, face flushing, loose strands of hair fanning her face. "I'm..."

"Bored," Danny breathes out once he catches his breath. "Why don't you go take a walk, get me something real for lunch?"

Danny's not too hopeful that Kono will take him up on the offer. It's her turn to guard him. Chin and Steve are chasing down a lead, investigating further what little information that Danny could give them on the shooting.

The smile drops from Kono's face, and she shakes her head, causing even more hair to spill from her hastily constructed ponytail. There's more out of it than in it now, and Danny resists the urge to lever himself up into a sitting position - it's easy, just the press of a button - and fix the young officer's hair. She's a grown woman, not a child. Danny doubts that Kono would appreciate his interference with her grooming. Would probably brush him off and remind him that he's not her father. He's never felt so old.

"Not gonna happen," she says, pats him on the knee.

"Fine," Danny says, shrugs, because that's about as animated as he can get without hurting himself. "Be bored."

Kono laughs. It's straight from her belly, throaty sounding, and Danny realizes that he's missed that sound. Laughter hadn't been on the long list of things that he'd missed while he'd been undercover. It is now. That, and smiles. And lectures from Chin, which consisted of few words, but were all the more powerful for the economy of them.

When Chin had spoken with him, just a few days ago, about his selfish, foolish act of running away, Danny's conscience had smarted. Chin had painted a poignant picture of the agony Danny's decision had caused, not only Steve, but also Kono and Chin. It had lasted all of five, maybe six minutes, but Danny had spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude,thinking on what Chin had said. In the end, he'd come to the conclusion that Chin was right - he'd run away, from Steve, from himself, and he'd only made a mess of things, because he'd been unwilling to face what had pained him head on, and with the willing help of friends.

"I wouldn't _be_ bored if you'd tell me what's on your mind," Kono says in exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air.

Danny knows that her mind's really on Chin and Steve, that it's not boredom that's gnawing at her gut and chest, but worry. The same worry that's keeping Danny awake when his body's begging him to rest.

"Fine," Danny says, as much for his own benefit as hers. "I...I keep rebuilding the walls of the box, in my mind, when..." he's looking at his hands, can feel his cheeks heating up from fear and embarrassment, from shame. His heart hammers painfully in his chest.

"When the pain becomes too much," Danny quietly confesses.

When he finally gathers the courage to look at Kono, instead of the look of horror or deep disgust he half expects to see on her face, he sees a look of sympathetic understanding. There is far too much wisdom in her eyes. She's too young, too unseasoned to understand something like this.

"What was it like?" Kono's voice is subdued, her eyes sad yet curious.

"It was all of my worst nightmares, rolled into one," Danny whispers, after a pause.

He plucks at a loose thread on his blanket, focuses on it, almost to the exclusion of everything else, can feel the now imaginary walls of the box closing in on him. Doesn't want them to.

Kono reaches for his hand, pulls his attention away from the thread, the box that is threatening to take him back into its claustrophobic embrace. He wants Steve.

"Danny, I'm sorry," Kono says. She bites her lip, takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I shouldn't have asked."

Danny shakes his head hard enough to make himself dizzy, squeezes Kono's hand. "No, it's okay." His voice is rough, his throat tight, like the walls of the box.

"It was..." Danny's not sure how to put it all into words. They're there, but spinning around in his head, and he's got to stop them from spinning in order to give voice to them.

He'd been unable to explain what it was like to the psychiatrists, to Steve. He hadn't been ready then, but, he realizes with a start, that he's ready now. Heart beating out a frantic pace, palms sweaty and trembling, ice in his veins, gut twisted, the words stop spinning, and he's ready to talk. There's a part of him that knows it isn't fair to Kono, that she shouldn't have to bear witness to this, but her hand is warm and her eyes are encouraging Danny to speak.

"I thought I was going to die," he confesses. "I'd started to question my very existence, you know?"

Though she couldn't possibly know, Kono nods, encourages him to continue speaking with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

"I blamed Steve," Danny's heart stills at the confession, his ears ring, but he hurries on to add, "and then I started thinking that maybe I wasn't real, that Steve, and you, and Chin...that none of you, none of _us_ , was real. That the only thing that was real, the only thing that existed was the...the box."

"Like you didn't exist outside of the box?" Kono asks, voice quiet, subdued. Her hand is holding Danny's so tight that it almost feels like she was there, in that box, with him.

Danny nods. "I thought that I'd imagined the life I'd had outside of the box. That I'd imagined Steve. That Grace wasn't real, that I...that my whole life was that box. I hated it, hated the memories of life that I had outside of it, because I knew, at some point, that they weren't real. That the only thing that was real was the box. I was the box, the box was me."

Danny laughs, because his thoughts, spoken aloud like that, don't make sense. They're the ramblings of a crazy man.

"Is that why you left?" Kono asks, running her thumb beneath Danny's eyes, brushing aside tears he hadn't noticed were falling. "Because you...you feared we weren't real?"

Danny shakes his head, nods, because, really, it's a little of both, and he isn't sure. "I didn't think it was fair to Steve. I was so angry with him for..."

"For not finding you sooner, for letting those men get to you in the first place, for..."

"Putting me in the box," Danny hisses the guilty words. "I know, here," Danny presses a hand to his chest, "that it wasn't Steve's fault. I'm just having a hard time convincing this," he taps his temple with his forefinger.

Kono nods, leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. "You've always been a little hardheaded, Danny. You and Steve both. Sometimes I just want to knock your heads together." She sounds wistful.

"You sound like Chin," Danny grumbles, presses his fingers to the spot on his cheek Kono had kissed.

"Well." She shrugs, tucks a leg beneath herself, getting comfortable beside him. "It's true. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you two, and..." she holds up a finger when Danny opens his mouth. He shuts it with an audible snap.

"I come from a long line of stubbornness. Take Chin, for instance." Kono rolls her eyes, and Danny chuckles, feels some of the ache in his chest lessen.

"One would think that the sun and the moon obey the sound of his voice, to hear him talk," Kono adds.

"Kono," she lowers her voice in an imitation of her cousin's. It's surprisingly accurate as exaggerated as it is. There's a severe look on her face that makes Danny laugh, because it does remind Danny of Chin. "There are protocol to follow when..."

A throat clears from behind them, and Kono nearly falls from her perch, her eyes going wide. Danny clutches at her, to keep her from falling, gasps at the flare of pain that it causes him. It feels like his chest is being ripped open, again.


	17. Mickey Ain't Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kono might've accidentally, maybe a little on purpose, brainwashed Danny after a visit from a couple of not so good guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been sitting on this chapter for a week now, and I knew it wasn't ready. I was finally able to focus on it again today, and, well, I think Kono might've accidentally, on purpose, brainwashed Danny. I hope that this chapter doesn't seem stupid or inane, or read like I'm on drugs (strictly Bayer aspirin and sugar right now). Please forgive me if it does. Yes, I know, it's about Steve and Danny and getting them together - ho oku i means come together - but right now the muse is more interested, apparently, in figuring out how to superglue them together with the help of their friends, so that they won't fall apart again. And I'm rambling.
> 
> I hope I haven't lose you all.

"Gee...give...a...guy...a...heart...attack...would...you?" Danny jokes, between painful sounding gasps.  
  
He's got one hand wrapped around the bedrail, the other's clutching at his chest. Kono's slipped from the bed, keeping herself between the men who've stepped into the room, unannounced, and Danny. She reaches for her weapon, trying not to telegraph her move, her eyes locked on the four men who've entered the room, shutting the door behind them.  
  
Steve, Chin and Kono have an agreed upon knock - three long, pause, one long, one short, one long knock if everything's okay (a modified Morse code), or three short, three long, three short if something's wrong. The doctors and nurses knock three times, at least.  
  
There was no knock. No warning. No text giving Kono a head's up that there'd been a change in plans.  
  
"Not funny, Danny," Steve's voice is hard, and Kono stands between him and Danny as he approaches the injured man. "Or, should I call you, Mickey?"  
  
Kono ignores the raised eyebrow that Steve gives her, the gesture for her to stand down. There's something wrong, and she's not going to let Steve, and the strange men with him, near Danny. She breathes a little easier when Chin catches her eye and gives her a brief wink.  
  
Whatever is going on, Steve and Chin have it under control. Kono takes a step to the side. She's still close enough to Danny that she can protect him if it proves to be necessary. She hopes, though, that it won't be. She doesn't want to have to take on the well-armed men who've accompanied Chin and Steve into the room.  
  
"Steve?" Danny's voice is small, and he struggles to sit up. Kono presses a hand to his shoulder and shakes her head.  
  
"I wouldn't do that," she says. "Boss's not happy." She hopes she hasn't screwed things up, blown whatever cover Steve and Chin had established by calling Steve, 'boss.'  
  
Danny stills, his eyes going wide when Steve stands in his line of vision. Steve's face is hard, lips pressed together in a thin line. His eyes are like stone, and Kono keeps her hand on Danny's shoulder, offering him what little comfort she can under the circumstances.  
  
"This why you left me, Danny boy? To join up with the likes of him?" Steve jerks a thumb behind him, and Danny's eyes follow the direction that Steve's pointing in.  
  
Danny rubs at his chest, swallows, and blinks at Steve, and at the men behind him. Instead of lighting up in recognition, his eyes dull, and something seems to shift inside of him. He stiffens beneath Kono's palm, and glares at Steve.  
  
"I did what I had to do, Commander," sarcasm drips from Danny's lips. "You'd made it perfectly clear that I'd outlived my usefulness to you."  
  
"Tell me, he fuck you too?" Steve's voice is cruel as he leans over Danny.  
  
Kono feels like she's been slapped in the face and is almost afraid to look at Danny, not wanting to see the pain that Steve's words are bound to bring the man. What she does see, in a brief glance, is enough to take her breath away. Danny's eyes flashing in anger are the only indication that Steve's words have hurt him. He looks nothing like the man she's come to think of as an older brother over the years. He looks like a killer.  
  
Danny laughs. It's harsh, more like a bark than anything else. Kono's not sure whether to continue to stand her ground or back away. A quick glance in Chin's direction keeps her rooted to the spot.  
  
"Here I'd thought it'd be a happy reunion," one of the men says.  
  
He's thickly built, almost like a boxer. Short and stocky, dark hair balding. He reeks of smarm and has a slick, low class vibe about him. Kono feels sick, thinking about Danny doing anything with this man, let alone what Steve is suggesting.  
  
"Pity you didn't tell me about your lover, Mickey." The man approaches Danny's bed, and Steve gives way for him, eyes locked on Danny's.  
  
"Weren't nothing to tell," Danny says coolly. "We were through."  
  
"And yet, here he, and his associates are, standing guard at your sick bed," the man says. He rests a hand on Danny's arm.  
  
Danny shrugs. "Things were through on my side, Zanetti. The commander here," Danny jerks his chin in Steve's direction, rolls his eyes. "Well, he's never been very good with goodbyes."  
  
"Danny, Mickey, whatever the fuck his name is," Steve says, jaw clenching tightly, the muscle jumping. "Owes me, and I aim to collect."  
  
"Shoulda killed him when I had the chance," Danny says brashly, barks out another laugh.  
  
Steve grips the edge of Danny's bed so tightly that Kono can see his knuckles go white.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm glad you didn't." Zanetti chuckles. "With the connections that he has, my territory will expand in no time at all."  
  
"He's connected alright," Danny begrudges. "Found me, didn't he?"  
  
"Thought you were dead," Zanetti says, suddenly serious. "Hell, half the city thought you were dead. Gotta say, I'm glad you ain't dead. I never had anyone quite as good as you workin' under me."  
  
Steve's nostrils flare, and Kono can see that it's taking all of his willpower not to strangle the man. She doesn't blame him.  
  
Kono wants to push the man's meaty paw off of Danny, hates the thought that Danny's been dealing with this asshole by himself for the past several months. Instead, she stands her ground, keeps her hand on Danny's shoulder, and keeps a wary lookout on Chin, and the man standing beside him. He's got one of those necks that is so thick that it looks like a tree trunk, and small, beady eyes that seem completely devoid of intelligence.  
  
"Rumors of my death have been, as the saying goes," Danny says, a grim smile on his pale face, "greatly exaggerated. Takes more'n a couple bullets to kill ol' Mickey here." Danny thumps his chest, and winces.  
  
Zanetti laughs, and Kono fights the urge she has to deck the man. Danny joins in, his own laughter slightly winded. He's fading fast, Kono can see it in the tight lines of pain around his eyes and lips, in the labored way that he's breathing.  
  
He needs to rest, needs to stop this stupid charade before it sets his recovery back. The machine monitoring his heartbeat is starting to make a high pitched sound. A nurse will be coming to check on Danny's elevated heartbeat any moment now.  
  
Kono can see that Steve's aware of this too, his eyes dart toward the machine, and he frowns slightly, though he says nothing, and doesn't give Danny a second glance. She knows that hearing all of this has got to be killing him.  
  
"I don't doubt it," Zanetti says, and he pats Danny's arm, winks at him. Kono can see Steve's jaw twitch, can tell that, in spite of his cover, he's getting angry and jealous.  
  
"We took care of your shooter," Zanetti says, glances at the man standing beside Chin. "Mullins sent him on a permanent trip down the river. I don't deal with dirty cops."  
  
Danny swallows convulsively. "How'd you know who shot me?"  
  
"Little fucker bragged about it all over town. Tried to get in good with me by claiming you was a cop, saying he'd done me a favor." Zanetti waves a hand in the air dismissively and laughs. "That he wanted in on what I had going on, that he'd give me the heads up on police calls, and all that crap."  
  
Zanetti leans in a little too close, obscuring Kono's view of Danny's face. Making her want to hurt the man.  
  
"You ain't no cop. No cop woulda done what you done to that man, god, what was his name? Bill, or Brad? Name started with a B anyway. You know, I think he's still in physical therapy, trying to learn how to walk without a limp." Zanetti's laughter makes Kono sick, but not as sick as the guilty look on Danny's face.  
  
"Man shoulda known better'n ta mess with me," Danny says, his voice giving away nothing of the remorse that Kono could see, for a brief moment, when she'd looked into his eyes.  
  
"Damn straight he shoulda." Zanetti squeezes Danny's arm. "God, I missed you, ya angry fuck. Don't die again, you hear?"  
  
Danny returns the man's smile. Kono can tell that it's forced, though it's obvious that Zanetti is clueless.  
  
"Don't plan on it anytime soon," Danny says. "Tough as nails." He taps his chest, wincing slightly.  
  
"Hard as a rock," Zanetti says, rapping his knuckles on Danny's head and winking at him when Steve growls. "Guess I'm makin' your old man a little jealous here, Mickey. Maybe you oughta give him another chance, lay off the quick fucks, settle down." He laughs when Danny gives him the middle finger.  
  
Steve stiffens, and Kono can see both jealousy and worry warring for dominance in Steve's eyes. There's also a touch of relief at Zanetti's confession that he and Danny aren't involved in anything aside from business. Kono's relieved too, the thought of Danny and Zanetti being lovers is enough to make her want to run from the room, screaming. Her stomach roils at the thought of it.  
  
Three quick knocks on the door indicate that a nurse has finally arrived in response to the change in Danny's heart rate. Without waiting for an answer, the nurse enters the room, a wide smile on her face that doesn't falter, even as she takes in the sight of all of the people in Danny's room.  
  
She takes one look at her patient and hurries forward, pushing Zanetti and Steve out of her way. Her smile disappears, and she shakes her head.  
  
"All of you, out, now," she orders in a voice that's both authoritative and chastising. Her words ring in the room, and she turns, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. "My patient needs his rest. Out."  
  
She places a hand on her hip and purses her lips, raises an eyebrow when Steve gives her a pleading look, and opens his mouth to protest. Kono wants to laugh at the way that Steve's ears grow red, but, one look at the angry nurse has her scrambling to obey the woman's orders too.  
  
Kono follows the others out of the door, giving Danny a sympathetic look when the nurse starts muttering something about how she didn't spend those extra five minutes on him in the ER just to watch him die at the hands of his clueless friends. By the looks and sounds of it, Danny's going to get an earful before he can finally get the rest that he really needs.  
  
In spite of everything, Kono smiles, knowing that, for the time being at least, Danny's in good hands, and safe. She follows the others until there's another hallway and banks left, counts to thirty, and when she doesn't hear anyone doubling back, she heads down the hallway, back to Danny.  
  
She can't quite shake the feeling that there's something more going on than what meets the eye. Steve, or Chin, should've given them a head's up. Kono's got a bad feeling about this, and she's going to stick by Danny until that feeling passes.  
  
She hates being left in the dark, but knows that Steve and Chin wouldn't do that to her and Danny unless there was a very good reason for it. Of course that doesn't mean she won't give both men hell for throwing her and Danny a curveball like that.  
  
When she's given the go-ahead by the nurse to return to the room, Danny's sleeping. There's a troubled look on his face, his brow's furrowed, and Kono wonders if she's reading too much into it. If maybe he's been like this since they found him, and she just hasn't noticed it, because she was just so happy to have found their missing friend.  
  
But she knows more now, more than Danny's told them in his brief, wakeful moments not spent in the company of nurses and doctors. It's almost more than she wants to know, and for some reason, she thinks that she doesn't yet know enough. That Steve and Chin don't yet know enough about what happened to their friend, and that they're getting themselves into something that might be harder to get out of than it was to get into.  
  
Danny mutters something in his sleep, and his fingers scrabble at the sheets. Kono wonders if he's searching for Steve, reaches over and takes his hand in hers. He stills, and she rubs her thumb over his knuckles.  
  
"What the hell did you get yourself into, Danny?" she whispers, no real acrimony in her voice.  
  
Her phone dings, and she thumbs it to life. It's a picture of Danny, when he'd been gunned down in the alley. It's a closeup. The caption beneath it reads: he died once, i can arrange for him to die again  
  
Whoever had taken the picture had been there when Danny was shot. Kono frowns, wondering who sent her this, and why now.  
  
It's disconcerting. Danny looks dead, and she has to look at the still living Danny to reconcile the image from the phone with what she knows to be true.  
  
She scans the message carefully, her heart in her throat, eyes going toward the closed door, hairs rising on the back of her neck, and she reaches for her gun. She sighs in relief when she realizes that the picture's been forwarded to her.  
  
"Forwarded by Chin? How the...?" Kono looks for other clues to explain why Chin had sent this to her, and what he wants her to do with the picture. It's a lead, and Kono isn't sure how to follow it.  
  
A second text comes in: find out who took this photo  
  
"Yeah, sure, Chin, I'll get right on that." Kono scowls at her phone and tosses it onto the chair without bothering to send a text in return. She's more than a little upset, doesn't think that it's too much to ask that he give her a head's up before sending her something like that.  
  
She focuses her attention on Danny who's started to toss and turn, and clutch at his chest. He's muttering again, and she can't make out the words. She leans in close, and her heart catches in her throat. Danny's apologizing to Grace, to Steve, to all of them for what he's done, for becoming an animal, and for dying.  
  
Kono squeezes his hand and whispers, "You're not dead, Danny. Not by a long shot."  
  
"Mickey." Danny's voice is gravelly, haunted. "My name's Mickey. Danny...he's...he's dead."  
  
"No," Kono says a little more sharply than she intended, and she practically crushes Danny's hand in her grip, forces his eyes to open.  
  
"No, you listen to me," Kono keeps her voice steady, hard, uncompromising. She doesn't want to lose Danny.  
  
Danny's eyes are clouded by whatever drugs the nurse has given him, they're filled with pain and regret, and Kono leans so close that she can feel Danny's breath on her neck. She doesn't want him to mistake her words for some hallucinogenic dream.  
  
"Your name is Danny. Detective Daniel Williams," Kono reinforces her message by using his title and name, and she squeezes his hand when his eyes start to close, holds his confused gaze, forces him to look at her.  
  
"You're a father, a damn good detective, and the only man who can talk sense into that crazy boss of ours, because he loves you and you love him. It's not Danny who's dead," Kono squeezes his hand, applies pressure until he grimaces in pain.  
  
"You hear me?" Kono doesn't care what it looks like, how it might sound to anyone who might happen to walk in on them right now. She wants to make her point clear, wants Danny to understand that he's got it all wrong, because she'll be damned if she's traveled all this way just to lose him, and with him, Steve, again.  
  
Danny nods, slowly, and his eyes blink, almost don't open again, but Kono taps him on the cheek, and Danny's eyes flutter open. They're focused on her lips.  
  
"It's Mickey who's dead. Mickey died in that alley," Kono says, her voice cracking. "Mickey's dead. You're not Mickey, you're Danny. Mickey's dead. Mickey, not Danny."  
  
She wonders if maybe she's gone too far when Danny's eyes start to cross as they lose focus and his face crumples in confusion as he soundlessly repeats her words: Mickey's dead. Mickey, not Danny.  
  
Danny blinks up at her, and Kono smiles at him, squeezes his hand. His eyes close and he loses his grip on Kono's hand, but she continues to hold his hand, hopes that she hasn't inadvertently hypnotized her drugged friend. That she hasn't compromised his recovery, or brainwashed him, or done some irreparable, psychological damage to him in his compromised state of mind.  
  
"Fuck," she breathes out, and brushes aside a wayward tear. She's angry. With herself, with Steve and Chin, and Zanetti. Angry with Mickey, who, whether a part of Danny or not, had hurt someone she loved, possibly irreversibly. Angry with the whole damn world right now. Angry at the stupid box and the men who'd started it all in the first place.  
  
"Be okay, Danny, please." Kono presses her cheek next to Danny's, closes her eyes and collects herself before letting go of Danny's hand.  
  
Straightening, she turns her attention to the picture on the phone, to the mystery that her cousin sent her, hoping that, if she figures out where the photo initially came from and who sent it, it will bring an end to all of this once and for all. Hopes that it'll bring them one step closer to burying Mickey, and bringing Danny home, intact and very much alive, and preferably not brainwashed.


	18. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve questions Zanetti and gets a little rough; Kono and Danny might be in danger. The real culprit is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just not sure about this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for those who've been so wonderfully supportive. It's greatly appreciated.

There's something fishy about this whole damn undercover operation, and it's all that Steve can do to keep from exploding. Steve takes a deep breath, holds it in, and tries to keep his temper in check. Zanetti is an asshole. A first class slime ball. Someone that Danny should never have gotten involved with, undercover or not.

"Steve," Chin's voice is pitched low, he's got a restraining hand on Steve's arm, keeping him from doing something stupid, like ramming a fist through Zanetti's face, or breaking the man's neck. Right now it's a toss up between the two.

Instead, he smiles, feeling sick about it, as Zanetti blathers on about _Mickey_. About what an animal _Mickey_ is, and how he has an appetite for brunettes and dark haired men with tattoos. About how Steve must have first hand knowledge of what Zanetti's talking about, because he's fucked the man.

"Don't do it," Chin says, tugs on Steve's arm when Steve makes a move toward Zanetti.

Steve bites his tongue, clenches his fists tight, and prays that Kono's close to figuring out who the hell sent him that picture of Danny, so that he can kill someone and get out of this godforsaken place where good, honest cops are set up to be killed, and creeps like Zanetti are still in business. He's inwardly seething and wonders how Danny put up with Zanetti for as long as he did without cracking. Or, maybe Danny had cracked.

"He's just trying to get under your skin," Chin says, when Zanetti makes a joke about what side of the street Danny walks on, and insinuates that what he and Steve had was nothing special, that Danny would fuck anything as long as it was tight enough, and there was enough alcohol and drugs involved.

Zanetti keeps calling Danny _Mickey,_ making the name sound like a pet name, making it seem like there was more going on between the two of them than business. Like _Mickey_ was much more to Zanetti than muscle he could use to threaten and push others around with. Like _Mickey_ and he might've been involved in a much more personal and intimate capacity. The possibilities are spinning around in Steve's head, and he wants to punch someone, but Chin's hand on his arm reminds him that he can't do that just yet.

Steve's seeing red, and his stomach clenches when he thinks of Danny, undercover or not, even so much as kissing this sleazeball. Some of what he's thinking must show on his face, because Chin pulls him to a stop, and motions for him to calm down and stay focused.

He's lost track of what they're doing, why they're following Zanetti and no-neck through side streets and back alleys. Steve's so angry that he can't see straight, and all he wants to do is get back to Danny, make sure that he's alright after what happened. Make sure that Danny knows that he understands, that Steve isn't angry with him, that he doesn't blame him for what's happened.

Steve does understand, better than he wants to. He's not angry about the things that Danny's done while undercover - the men he's beaten, those he's fucked - if Zanetti's lewd stories and insinuations are to be believed.

Steve's been there before. Done things to survive that he's never told anyone, not even Danny, about.

It's all part and parcel of the job; a necessity. Steve understands, and yet, when he looks at Zanetti, all he wants to do is wipe that smarmy smile off the man's idiotic face, and tell him to back the fuck off, and leave Danny the hell alone, and to stop calling Danny Mickey.

Steve isn't worried about keeping Danny's cover anymore, about maintaining his own loose cover. He's more concerned about figuring out who sent him that picture of Danny minutes after they'd left Danny's hospital room with Zanetti and his man.

He'd forwarded it to Chin, who'd forwarded it to Kono, and now he can't seem to shake the feeling that they're being watched by whoever the hell had sent him the picture of Danny bleeding out in the alley, minutes, maybe seconds before the paramedics had arrived. It fills him with a sense of dread, makes his skin itch.

Steve's phone buzzes, and he holds a finger up to forestall whatever the hell Zanetti's about to say, not that he wants to hear it, and he pulls his phone out. There's another picture of Danny, though this one's different.

It's of Danny - _Mickey_ \- with another man, it's a grainy looking picture, as though it's been shot in the dark, and it's hard to make out what the two men are doing together, though Steve gets the gist. Danny's, no _Mickey's_ hand, is on the other man's hip, their faces are close together, and Steve stops looking at the picture, forwards it to Chin, and fights the urge he has to shut his phone off.

_u care about him, don't u_

The message is taunting, trying to provoke a reaction out of him, and Steve's thumb hovers over the keyboard, his stomach twisting in knots as he types in a response.

_couldn't care less about the little fag, let him fuck whoever he wants to fuck. u got a hardon for him? be my guest._

He swallows the bile that rises in his throat, burning it, and gestures for Zanetti to continue with whatever it was that he'd been saying before the anonymous text was sent. He hopes that Kono is able to track down the little pissant so Steve can make good on some of the threats that are playing out in his mind.

"You okay, there?" Zanetti asks, leering.

Steve blinks at him, and frowns. "Why the fuck wouldn't I be okay?"

"It's just, you're so quiet," Zanetti says, and he laughs uncomfortably, like he knows something that Steve doesn't, and is trying, poorly, to keep it concealed.

Steve takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he's doing this so that he can bring Danny home.

"My mother always told me that silence was golden." He doesn't smile, gives Zanetti a look that he thinks Danny would name.

Zanetti smiles and nods vigorously, his big head bobbing between his shoulders in a manner that reminds Steve of one of those stupid bobblehead toys. The man laughs and it's an oily sounding thing that makes Steve want to shut him up, permanently.

He resists the urge, Chin's hand on his arm acting as a reminder that now is not the time, that they've got to find out who the hell is sending Steve these messages and why. That, for the time being, Zanetti and his henchman need to live.

"Well, here we are," Zanetti says, spreading his arms wide, and grinning like a loon.

Steve wonders if the man ever stops smiling. They're standing in the middle of an alley that smells like cat piss and shit, and the man's smiling. It's sickening, and Steve wonders how the man ever made a name for himself when it's clear, after spending just a few short hours with him, that the man's an idiot.

And then it hits him, and Steve almost starts grinning himself when he realizes that Zanetti's just a front-man. That he's a puppet and someone else is pulling the strings, or fuck, maybe someone's got his hand up the man's ass. Steve decides that's a much better image, and nearly laughs at the absurdity.

He wonders if Danny knew this, and then he goes cold with fear, because it's all starting to come together now. Danny _did_ know, and he was gunned down because of it. Both Danny and Kono are in danger, and he and Chin are sitting ducks.

"This is where your little fuck buddy was shot down," no-neck says, less intelligent than Zanetti, his voice is thick with some kind of accent that Steve can't place.

It's throaty, like the man's been chain smoking since he was in diapers. No amount of Chin's calm can keep Steve from felling the man with a single, well-placed jab to the back of his overly thick neck. It's almost comical the way the man drops like a sack of potatoes, but the gun pointed at Chin's head takes the punchline right out of it, and Zanetti's no longer smiling.

"You'll want to look at your phone, McGarrett," Zanetti says, seconds before his phone buzzes in his pocket.

All pretense of covers and amicable bantering is gone now, and Steve gets the sense that he's seeing the real Zanetti for the first time since he and Chin had managed to track him down with what little Danny was able to tell them about the operation. The man, as much as he and Chin were playing him, is playing them. It's almost dizzying.

Steve catches Chin's eye, and the man, even with a gun pointed at his head, is calm as a Buddha. He nods for Steve to do as Zanetti's ordered, and Steve wonders if Danny'd known that his number was up when he'd set foot in this alley. He wonders if Zanetti will know what's hit him when he goes down, if he'll go to Hell clueless as to how he got there when his time comes.

Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and this time there's a photo of Danny, pale, eyes closed, bare chest covered with a series of stitches. Danny's hooked up to machines, and there's a glimpse of Kono, off to the side. She's got her back to the photographer, as though she doesn't think he's a threat.

_care if i fuck him now? dont relly think hes up for it. do u? im game..._

Steve's stomach lurches and he snaps, his training as a Navy SEAL coming to the fore and taking over. He's in complete control of the situation, though, disarms Zanetti and has the man kneeling on the broken asphalt of the alley, before the man can so much as blink. He's got Zanetti's arm twisted at an impossible angle, and the man's in so much pain that, though his mouth is open, he's incapable of making a sound.

Steve smiles then, gets right up in Zanetti's face, and points the gun that the man had held on Chin at Zanetti's temple, digs it in, and, if it Chin's hand wasn't on his, he'd have pulled the trigger right then.

Instead, Steve satisfies himself with snapping Zanetti's arm, and removing the bullets from the gun. It's a clean break, and this time the man can scream, but Chin muffles the sound of it with the palm of his hand, and a sucker punch to the man's considerable gut.

Steve wastes no time in typing a quick reply to the latest text, sends whoever the fuck is messing with him a picture of his own. Chin's got a balled up tie stuffed in Zanetti's mouth, the man's cradling his broken arm, and no-neck's sprawled out beside him, still dead to the world. Neither man looks particularly threatening right now.

_check mate_

It's a gamble, and Steve prays that whoever is with Danny and Kono won't react adversely to his words.

"Whoever is pulling his strings." Steve gestures toward Zanetti. "He's with Danny and Kono right now," Steve says.

"Kono's not a rookie," Chin says, though he looks as worried as Steve feels. "She can hold her own."

"That bitch cop, and your bitch partner are both dead," Zanetti says, panting through the pain, eyes filled with tears. Though the words are threatening, there's a lack of conviction in the man's voice to back them up.

Chin's phone dings, and he looks at it, face draining of color, eyebrows knit together.

_Psych here, dept shrink, Dr. Capo?_

"Steve." Chin's voice is tight, and he hands his phone over. Steve glances at it, and resists the urge that he has to break it.

"Fuck." Steve runs a hand through his hair, wishes that he had answers that he doesn't have, that he could be in two places at once, that this was all over and he was on a plane home, with Danny by his side.

Danny hadn't mentioned anything about a shrink. Hadn't really mentioned much of anything to any of them about what he'd been through. There just hadn't been time for any of that, and he was rarely awake for long enough to go into any details.

Steve and Chin had questioned him a couple of times - keeping it brief, because Danny tired easily. They'd gotten some answers which had enabled them to track down Zanetti, and the chief of police who'd set up the operation - the man was a bastard, but he was clean. There was so much that they just didn't know yet; however, and Steve needed answers.

"We need to get back," Chin says, glancing at the downed men.

"Let Kono know," Steve says. "I'll take care of Zanetti and Mullins."

"Steve." Chin lays a cautionary hand on him, and shakes his head. "We don't have means and immunity here," Chin whispers, raises his eyebrows significantly.

Steve shrugs Chin's hand off, motions for him to text Kono, and he crouches before Zanetti. He smiles when the man swallows audibly. The smirk slips off the man's face when Steve inches forward, knife in hand.

"Did you have anything to do with Danny being shot?" he asks, toying with his knife, keeping it prominently in Zanetti's line of sight.

Zanetti's eyes go wide and he shakes his head, wincing when the enthusiasm with which he'd shook his head jostles his injured arm.

"No, no, I told him..." he pales and stops talking, licks his lips when Steve raises the knife to eye level and peers closely at it.

"You told him what, exactly?" Steve asks, holding the knife still, pointing directly at Zanetti's eye.

"I told him not to do it, that, that..." Zanetti is visibly sweating, breathing heavily now. "That it was working, that, that..." he trails off when Steve's jaw clenches and he narrows his eyes.

" _What_ was working?" The odd phrasing raises red flags in Steve's mind, and he tries not to jump to conclusions.

Zanetti snaps his mouth shut, his eyes going wide. He shakes his head, and trembles when Steve places the tip of the knife beneath his chin, cutting into it.

"Answer the question," Steve says, keeping his voice even, because he knows that it's far more intimidating when the person threatening you is in complete control.

Zanetti shakes his head, and Steve wonders what kind of hold this Dr. Capo has on the thug that would keep him silent even when facing certain death. It raises Steve's concern for Danny and Kono. He hopes that Kono's got control of the situation, whatever it is, at the hospital, and that she and Danny are okay.

"Steve." Chin's voice is tight, and Steve glances at him, keeps the knife at Zanetti's chin. "Kono isn't replying."

Zanetti seems to regain some semblance of his former bravado at Chin's words, and Steve draws the knife upward, making a neat cut that bisects the man's chin, and goes up to below the man's lower lip. It isn't deep enough to cause any permanent or deadly damage, but it's enough to make the man bleed and hurt. Deep enough to require stitches and for it to scar, unless the man knows a good plastic surgeon.

"Go on," Steve says, keeping his eyes locked on the wide-eyed Zanetti. "I'll catch up with you. I just need another minute here."

He's torn between rushing to Danny's aid, and finishing off Zanetti. He wants answers. Answers that he doubts that Danny has; answers that he's certain Zanetti can give him.

"Steve, there's no time," Chin says. He's kneeling beside Mullins, securing the man's hands and ankles with zipties. "I know you want answers, but -"

"I'll be right behind you, Chin," Steve says, an edge to his voice.

Chin lets out a frustrated breath, but he doesn't say anything. He uses Steve's shoulder to brace himself as he stands, squeezes hard and pointedly, communicating to Steve that he shouldn't do anything that will bring trouble down on them.

"Promise," Steve adds when Chin hovers nearby, as though he's torn as well. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

Chin leaves then, running out of the alley and back toward the hospital, which is a couple of blocks away. Steve gives Zanetti his full attention then; pulls the knife back and deliberately wipes the blood off on his shirt.

" _What_ was working?" Steve repeats the question as though he has all the time in the world, as though half of his mind's not with Danny and Kono.

When Zanetti keeps his lips pressed close together, and refuses to speak, Steve swings the knife downward and digs it into the man's leg, just above his kneecap, and twists it. He relishes the way that the flesh gives and the way that Zanetti's gasps in pain.

Zanetti screams, but Steve's not worried about anyone hearing the scream, even though it echoes in the alley. If anyone does hear the man's scream at this time of day, he doubts that anyone will care. If this was a neighborhood that held people who cared about their neighbors, then Danny wouldn't have been gunned down and left to bleed out.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll end this now," Steve says, twisting the knife again, digging it deeper, separating the patella from the femur, severing the tendon.

It's extremely painful, and Zanetti will never walk again without a distinct limp, will need the aid of a wheelchair and then crutches for some time to come. Will spend months in physical therapy, once the tendons and muscles start to mend.

Steve doesn't care. He wants the man to hurt. Wants to inflict pain on him for inflicting pain on Danny. He is in complete control, and yet he's not. There's a haze of red clouding his vision, making him dig that knife in a little deeper.

Something gives, with a snap that seems to ring in Steve's ears, and then Zanetti's whimpering, and Steve's vision clears a little. He removes the knife, pulls a bandana from a pocket in his cargo pants, and ties it tightly around the wound in Zanetti's leg, drawing another pained gasp from Zanetti. Much as he wants to, he can't let Zanetti bleed to death in the alley.

Steve can hear Danny's voice in his subconscious, reprimanding him for using excessive force, but he ignores it in favor of getting what he wants. He's frustrated and angry and hates how helpless he's felt since Danny's phone call.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Steve whispers, and then he raises the knife, places the tip beneath Zanetti's left eye and applies just enough pressure to draw a little dot of blood. The man whimpers and starts to beg.

"Please, please, he...he was crazy," Zanetti sputters, pulling away from the knife, but Steve presses forward, following.

"He wanted to, wanted to break your man." Zanetti gulps at the air, and seems to deflate when Steve removes the knife. "Said he was, was perfect for...for his...his experiment. Easy to...easy to manipulate."

Steve's blood boils, and he wonders why Dr. Capo abandoned his plan to break Danny in favor of killing him, what the psych's ultimate plan regarding Danny and Zanetti really was.

An even worse idea pops into his head, and Steve wonders if maybe Capo's gunman had gotten a little too trigger happy, if Dr. Capo had merely wanted Danny wounded so that he could further manipulate him, use Danny's weakened state to influence his mind. It's a terrifying thought.

Danny had already been in an altered state of mind when he'd left Hawaii, not coping well with what had happened to him in the box. It would have taken very little to break down what few defenses he still had in place to protect himself.

"I told him it was working," Zanetti says, voice pleading. "I liked Mickey. Man was a fucking genius with his fists. No one messed with him. The doctor did good. He did. I told him he did good."

Zanetti's shaking, his eyes wide, like a child's, and Steve wonders if the doctor he's talking about, the doctor with Kono and Danny, worked his magic on Zanetti as well. Whatever the case, Danny was dealing with far more than he probably realized, and Steve needs to get back to the hospital. He needs to make sure that Danny's alright.

He quickly pulls Zanetti's hands behind him, heedless of the man's injured arm. He takes some pleasure in causing the man even more pain than he already has as he maneuvers the man's arm in the opposite direction than it should be moved, making bone scrape over bone and making the man whimper and sweat with the pain of it. He secures the zip tie tight enough to bite deeply into Zanetti's fleshy wrists, watches the man topple, face first, onto the asphalt, cheek lying in a rancid puddle.

"You tell anyone about this, and I will find you, and kill you," Steve whispers in the man's ear, smiles and pats him on the cheek as he stands. It's a promise, and judging by the look of fear on Zanetti's face, he understands as much.

Cleaning his knife, Steve stows it in his boot, and then he leaves the alley, making a quick phone call to the local police as he runs to the hospital, his heart racing in his chest. If he's fucked this up, and Danny's health is further compromised, or worse, he'll never forgive himself.


	19. I'll Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny wakes to find a stranger in the room, and a miniature Steve poking him in the nose with a red umbrella. (angst, action, h/c, humor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dedicated to TheDogo who encouraged me to write again after I got discouraged. This chapter wouldn't have been written this soon had it not been for that encouragement, and it might look altogether different as well. There could very well be some errors in here, I apologize ahead of time. Thanks also go to CinderH who wanted Danny's p.o.v, and simplyn2deep who asked good questions.
> 
> A/N 2: References are made to an earlier chapter titled, "A Wrench in the Plan," #7, where a psych evaluation was mentioned. It was brief and the doctor was never named, neither was the chief of police. Here, the doctor is given a name, and an agenda that goes far beyond his menial job as a police department shrink. The doctor's motivations are suspect, and rather reminiscent of 80's TV shows that I used to watch when I was younger, so please keep that in mind as you read. Mahalo

Something feels off, and Danny can't quite put his finger on what it is, though it makes him nervous. He tries to open his eyes, but can't. Panic steals his breath, makes his heart race, and he can hear the machine that he's hooked up to start to beep as it registers his alarm.

He knows where he is, how he ended up in the hospital. It's not his recollection of the shooting - how helpless he'd been - or knowing that he's stuck in a hospital bed which is making him panic. It's something else, and Danny's panic increases when he can't figure out what it is that's bothering him.

_Easy, Danno._

It's Steve's voice, in his head. His own personal Jiminy Cricket in the form of a Navy SEAL.

Danny pictures a miniaturized Steve wearing a snazzy suit, absurdly large shoes, white gloves, and a top hat. He's using a red umbrella to lean against as he looks at Danny. It's ridiculous, and he wants to laugh, but the pressure on his chest prevents him from breathing, let alone laughing.

_Stop panicking. Breathe._

Steve's voice is soothing, calming, even if the only image that Danny can seem to muster of him is comical, and doesn't fit the situation at all.

_That's it, Danny. Breathe for me._

Mini Steve is sitting on Danny's chest, facing him, opening and closing his umbrella in time to Danny's breaths, giving him something to focus on other than the pain in his chest and the worry niggling at the back of his mind.

His legs are crossed at the ankle, top hat askew, and he's got a serious look on his face. Very un-Jiminy Cricket-like.

_You've got to open your eyes, Danny._

Danny frowns, wonders how he can see Steve if his eyes aren't open, and then remembers that he's seeing, not the real Steve, but a figment of his imagination. 'Why can't I imagine Steve half-naked, coming up out of the ocean after a swim?' he wonders.

The miniaturized Steve stands up, walks across Danny's chest and taps him on the nose with the tip of his umbrella. It's sharper than it looks, and Danny's face scrunches, not in pain, but irritation. He wants to brush at his nose, because it tickles, but he can't move his arms.

_Open your eyes, Danny._

Miniature Steve is adamant, raises his umbrella to tap Danny on the nose a second time.

'Pinocchio didn't have to deal with this kind of abuse,' Danny thinks a little crossly.

Danny can't move away from the incessant attack - the umbrella is a surprisingly good weapon in his incapacitated state. He wants to open his eyes, wants to do what Steve is telling him to do, but it's difficult, and his eyes don't seem to want to cooperate no matter what he tells them.

_Open your eyes._

'I'm trying,' Danny grouses, wishing he could take the tiny umbrella away from Steve.

_Try harder._

Steve isn't being kind. He's being an ass, and Danny wants to flick the miniature version of the man he loves off his chest. He doesn't need the added pressure, doesn't need the reminder of how weak he is. Doesn't need to be poked in the nose by that fucking umbrella one more time.

'I _am_ trying,' Danny feels like shouting, and then he's blinking his eyes against harsh light, and Steve's no longer there, miniature or otherwise.

Someone else is looming over him, and Danny's eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden light. It's got to be Kono, he remembers her being there after Zanetti had left, with Steve and Chin in tow.

Danny had wanted to warn Steve, wanted to tell him not to trust Zanetti, or the man with him, but he hadn't had time, and the nurse had come in and given him some kind of drug to help him relax and sleep.

He can feel the drugs still in his system, trying to pull him back under, but there's that feeling that something's horribly wrong, and the whisper of Steve's voice tickling his conscience, that makes him keep his eyes open. Open, his eyes find it hard to focus, and Danny wonders if that's because of the drugs, or because of something else.

"Detective Williams," a voice says, and he feels a tap on his cheek.

'Least it's not my nose,' Danny thinks, and he grudgingly tries to follow the movement of whoever it is that's hovering over him. 'Must be my doctor.'

_He's not your doctor, Danny._

Danny tries to turn his head to seek out mini Steve, but he's nowhere in sight, and Danny can't seem to make his head move the way that he wants it to. It's unnerving.

He can no longer drum up an image of Steve, and Danny starts to panic again.

"Relax," the voice says.

Danny doesn't want to relax, he wants to wake the fuck up and find Steve. Wants to figure out what's bugging him so much. Wants to be able to recognize the face of the man who's standing over him, tapping him on the cheek.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Danny doesn't believe the voice for a minute, though he has no idea why. He wants Steve back, even if he can only have the miniature version of the man and and he continues to poke him with his imaginary umbrella.

_Hold on, Danny._

Steve's voice sounds worried, strained, and Danny wishes that he could find the man, or conjure up an image of him.

"I don't think he's up for this," Kono's voice pulls Danny from the edge of panic that he'd been teetering on. "Maybe you'd better come back, when he's awake."

"I think I'm capable of judging Daniel's fitness," the voice says a little angrily. "I _am_ a doctor."

 _Daniel._ The formal use of his name doesn't feel right, and he remembers that the man, whoever he is, had also addressed him as Detective Williams.

"You're not helping him," Kono retorts.

Danny wishes that he could see her face, but his head refuses to move. It feels stuck, like it's being held in place, and he thinks that maybe it is.

"I think you should leave," the voice says. It's sharp and Danny doesn't want Kono to leave. Doesn't want her to leave him alone with the voice and the hands that are keeping his head from moving.

"I'm not going anywhere," Kono says.

Danny silently cheers Kono's pluck and determination, because he can't seem to get his mouth to work. Breathing, and keeping his eyes open, is hard enough for him to do right now.

"I knew that you'd be difficult."

The phrase, as well as the cadence it's spoken in, is odd. Danny wishes that his eyes would stop being so difficult, that they would work well enough for him to get a good look at the man whose face is perched above his own.

"Tell me, has your cousin texted you back yet?"

The man shifts away from him, and Danny can move his head now, but he still can't make out anything other than blurry shapes. He knows the smaller one belongs to Kono, but doesn't know who the larger shape belongs to, and is unable to do anything as the larger shape advances on the smaller one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kono says, and Danny can tell that she's bluffing.

He's worked with her long enough to know her slightly over-defiant clip to her voice is enough of a giveaway, and he knows that Chin did send her a text, though he has no idea what's going on, or what any of it means.

_It's going to be okay, Danno._

Mini Steve is back, leaning against his red umbrella. He's facing away from Danny, though he's standing on Danny's chest. Danny follows the miniature's gaze, sees that Kono's in a fighting stance - feet shoulder-width apart, back squared, hands hanging loosely by her side. She appears, to the untrained eye, to someone who doesn't know her, as though she's relaxed.

_I taught her that._

Danny snorts at the prideful remark. Even in his imagination, Steve is cocky, and though he's facing away from Danny, he can picture the broad grin on the man's face. Though, to be fair, Steve _had_ taught her that, as well as the importance of being prepared for anything, and keeping a knife on her person at all times.

Things which Danny believes will come in very handy now. Even with his eyes better able to focus, now that he isn't being forced to stare up at the lights, he still can't place the dark-haired man who is threatening Kono, though he thinks he should be able to.

Danny licks his lips, pushes air over his tongue and past his lips, hoping for sound. He manages a faint breathy sound, and counts that as a plus. He's still got a long way to go if he's going to say something to take the man's attention off of Kono.

He manages to raise one of his hands, after several failed attempts, and grips the metal railing of his bed with a hand that's trembling far too much for his liking. His fingers nearly slip off of the railing, finding it difficult to grasp, but Danny concentrates and keeps hold of it.

He swallows and takes as deep a breath as he can, knowing that what he's about to do is going to hurt, but he doesn't see an alternative as the man takes another step toward Kono.

Danny wishes that Steve, or Chin would come bursting through the door right now, keep him from what he's about to do, but knows that life, at least his life, doesn't work that way. There's never an easy way for him out of situations like this, never anything that doesn't cause pain.

_Danny._

Mini Steve's voice is filled with concern, but Danny ignores that in favor of directing all of his energies, which are waning, on sitting up, which is laughable, really. It shouldn't take this much effort to sit up in bed.

Danny grits his teeth, knowing that this will hurt, and praying that he doesn't undo any of the doctors' handiwork, because he knows that it had taken them a long time to stitch him together - three of them working on him in concert with each other.

He could use the remote control to move the head of the bed up from it's currently angled position. It's at a comfortable angle. Sitting up further will make him uncomfortable, could compromise his recovery, because it might increase his blood pressure.

He's got Kono to think about though. Steve, other than in his current state as a miniature incarnation in Danny's mind, is not here. Chin is with Steve. It's just Danny and Kono and a stranger who knows more than he should about them.

Danny clears his throat and draws the attention of Kono and the stranger, both of them turning in his direction. Using every bit of energy that he possesses, Danny draws in a breath and heaves himself upright, using the railing to help him.

His vision whites out, and he thinks that he can hear mini Steve remonstrating him for being foolish, but he knows what he's doing. Or, at least he thought he'd known what he was doing when he'd planned it.

His chest is on fire, he's half certain that if he looks down, he'll see flames licking at it. Instead, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, hoping that, once the pain subsides, _if_ the pain subsides, he'll be able to see the man and finally identify him.

"Danny, what the hell?" Kono is definitely angry with him, which means her attention is not where it's supposed to be.

"Detective Williams," the stranger's voice sounds strained, concerned.

Danny can feel someone's arm on his shoulder, pushing him back, but he resists, remains sitting out of sheer will alone, because he doesn't really have any strength left.

He's dizzy, and panting through the pain. It's all he can do to not to give into the pain and let the darkness pressing at the edges of his vision take over, all he can do not to crawl into his box and wait for someone to get him out of it.

"Who?" the question isn't complete, it's lacking a subject and a predicate, but Danny's hoping that it can be understood, even if it comes out as nothing more than a rasp.

He thinks he remembers one of his high school English teachers mentioning something about the subject you being understood, though, really, right now, not important. What _is_ important is making himself clear, drawing the attention away from Kono, buying time for Steve and Chin to return, because they have to be coming back, they have to realize that there's danger here. If not, that means the impossible, and that's not something that Danny has the energy to think about right now.

Danny's vision returns, though it isn't much improved from earlier. Actually, it's worse, and he's seeing double of the man he can't place.

"Don't you remember me, detective?" the man asks, his face - both of them - a mask of feigned concern. He has a gun in his hand. It wasn't there before, at least Danny doesn't think it was.

Foregoing the use of his voice, Danny shakes his head, regretting the move almost instantly as a wave of vertigo makes the room spin. He blinks, grips the metal rail as tightly as he can, feeling it slip through his fingers, which are growing numb.

"Dr. Capo," Kono interrupts. "I think you'd better leave now."

She's watching Capo, the gun in his hand, and Danny, concern etched in every line on her face. Danny worries that she's getting too old, too fast, wishes that she hadn't had to go through all that she has since she's signed on with Five-0.

"Not until I've done what I've come to do," the doctor says, waving his gun in the air. "After all the work I've put into this. Putting that stupid police chief into place. Getting Zanetti set up, which took me years, and then waiting for the right man for the job; I'm not going to let Detective Williams' care rest in the hands of mere plebeians who don't understand the first thing about the tender nature of the human mind."

Danny remembers then. Remembers when he'd first sought a job with a department, how difficult it had been, how he'd had to go through several interviews, and then be cleared by psych. He never had gotten the doctor's name. Had never really paid attention to what the man looked like. Would never have anticipated that it was this man who had set him up to be shot.

"You were not supposed to die," Dr. Capo says, and he sounds sincere, though he points the gun at Danny's head. "He wasn't supposed to kill you, but he got greedy. Wanted to take your place."

The doctor brushes Danny's hair off his forehead, and Danny tries not to flinch. He doesn't know this man, doesn't understand what this man wants from him. Doesn't understand any of this, least of all why the doctor took an interest in him.

"You were perfect," Dr. Capo says, stroking Danny's cheek with the gun, making Danny's stomach twist. "I knew it the moment I read your file. What you'd been through, the pain and the horror of it, made you the perfect candidate for me."

"What?" Danny's holding on by a thread, mini Steve's voice is encouraging him to hold on just a little longer, to be strong.

'I _am_ strong,' Danny thinks, 'but I'm not bulletproof.'

"You were almost ready. Almost a new man. A man of _my_ fashioning," Dr. Capo says, and he places the barrel of the gun beneath Danny's chin. "A man I could use to build my empire, someone I could replace that tool, Zanetti, with. I built him too.I built him and I can take him apart."

He tilts Danny's head upward, making him look at the blinding lights. Black spots dance in Danny's vision, and he can feel himself slipping, his fingers failing him as he tries to reclaim his hold on the metal railing.

"Get the fuck away from him," Kono's voice breaks through the haze that fills Danny's mind, keeps him from prying the lid off the box and lowering himself into it, escaping into the safety of its inky blackness.

"He's mine," Dr. Capo says, seizing Danny's chin, making it impossible for Danny to lie down or look away from his cold, gray eyes. The gun is now being pointed directly at Kono. "I'm almost finished with him. When that partner of his, McGarrett, is dead -"

"Dead?" the word pushes its way past Danny's lips, and his heart momentarily stops beating before resuming, but at a much faster pace than is safe.

The doctor's mouth twists in a macabre grin, and he laughs, his gun hand wavering. "I should be getting the text any minute now."

He releases Danny's chin, letting Danny sink back against the mattress. He pulls out his phone and smiles. Danny's heart sinks. Capo toggles the phone on and shoves it in Danny's line of vision. Danny blinks at the image on the screen.

"Check mate," Danny says, his voice nearly below a whisper.

Smiling, he raises his eyes to look at Capo. The message had been sent fifteen minutes ago, if Capo hadn't been ranting and waving his gun around, he would've gotten the message earlier, would know that Steve was still alive. Would know that Zanetti and his goon - apparently under Capo's thumb, or psychiatric care, Danny isn't sure which, doesn't really care - were at the mercy of a very pissed off Navy SEAL, who, after tying up loose ends, was no doubt heading this way.

The door crashes open, startling all of them, making Danny's heart race dangerously fast. He places a palm against his chest, hoping that it'll help ease some of the pain, make his heart stop trying to beat its way through the stitches.

"Put the gun down," Chin's voice, though it's not the voice that Danny's been expecting, is a very welcome sound.

Danny tries to sit up again, but his body quickly vetoes that idea, makes it impossible for him to do anything other than keep his hand pressed to his chest and turn his head to the side. Kono's placed herself directly between Capo's gun and Danny.

_Hold still, Danno. Don't try to move._

Miniature Steve has his feet propped up on Danny's thumb, and is leaning back on his elbows, umbrella open as though he's seeking shade from the overly bright lights. It's so very unStevelike that Danny thinks maybe he's losing it. Steve doesn't lounge around, not when the shit's about to hit the fan, hell, not even when they're sitting out on the lanai at Steve's place, enjoying a beer and watching the sunset.

"Tell me, are you two just as close as your leader and his second in command?" Capo asks, a small grin on his face as he looks from Chin to Kono, the gun never wavering.

"I've read your files, googled past news stories," Capo says, almost conversationally, shrugging. "But there are some things that you just can't find in police files or on google, as thorough as the internet is nowadays."

He takes a step toward Kono, gun aimed at her heart.

"Does your relationship transcend that of cousinly affections? After your lovely wife died, in your arms, Detective Kelly, did you seek comfort in the arms of your beautiful cousin?" Capo isn't looking in Chin's direction, his eyes are locked on Danny's.

The words make Danny sick, and he can see that they're having the desired effect on Chin. The man's jaw is clenched tight, and his cheeks hold just a touch of red. Kono's practically vibrating with anger.

"Was she your very first sexual conquest?" Capo asks, warming to his subject, sensing in whatever it is that he sees in Danny's eyes, that it's working, that he's putting the cousins on the defensive.

"Did you teach her how to kiss?" He takes another step forward, the barrel of the gun nearly touching Kono's chest.

He's too busy watching Danny, though, to hear the door open, to see Steve slipping silently into the room. Too busy toying with his subjects' emotions to notice that the dynamic's shifted. Too busy reading Danny's reactions to pay attention to Kono, who, in one swift move manages to disarm Capo and slam a fist into his face, breaking his nose if the loud, resounding crack is anything to go by.

She twists the man's hand up behind his back, making him whimper, and Danny hears a very satisfied grunt from Steve, senses Chin's silent approval before darkness finally has its way, and starts to take Danny under. He's safe now. Steve's there.

The jarring sound of an alarm is the last thing that Danny hears as the darkness stakes its claim. Though, red umbrella acting like a parachute, mini Steve floats in the air above him, he's fading fast, darkness eating away at his cartoon like figure.

He shouts something at Danny that somehow makes its way through the cacophony of noise before he disappears completely, swallowed up by the darkness. The words, though Danny's surrounded by darkness so complete that it feels like it's seeping into his bones, echo around him and give him something to hold onto in a place where there is nothing else.

_Don't leave me, Danno. Not again. Please stay with me._

'Okay,' Danny thinks. 'I'll stay.'


	20. Every Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve waits, Kono vents, and Chin placates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. It kept being tricky, and I tried using a new writing program which just didn't work for me. Finally, I sat out on the lanai with my Google notebook and my ColorNote app, and wrote. Not sure how I like the end of this chapter...but it doesn't want to budge, and it isn't listening to reason. No, I'm not crazy. At least not any crazier than any of the rest.
> 
> I really am very grateful and humbled by the support. Thank you.

"He's in cardiac arrest," one of the doctors says. He's focused on Danny, stethoscope draped around his neck.

Steve feels like his own heart's stopped beating. This can't be happening. Not after everything that he's been through, after everything that Danny's been through.

It's insane, and unfair, and Steve wants to go back to the alley and kill Zanetti, because he needs to do something with his anger. Something that doesn't involve punching a doctor in the face, or shouting at Kono for not being aware that they were in danger until it was too late.

"I need you to clear the room," the doctor says, but Steve shakes his head, holds Danny's hand tighter, willing Danny's heart to start beating again without the aid of the doctors.

He knows, on some level, that it won't work, that the magic like the kind that he's banking on doesn't exist in the real world. That kind of magic, brought about by love, exists only in movies and fairy tales, like the ones that he's heard Danny read to Grace. Steve knows, intellectually, that the best thing for him to do is get out of the doctors way so that they can fix this. His heart, on the other hand, is telling him something far different, and he's not sure which one he can trust.

"C'mon Steve," Chin says, pulling at his arm.

Kono's prying at his fingers, trying to work them loose from Danny's hand, and shoving him in Chin's direction.

Releasing his grip on Danny's hand is like sliding off a mountain.

Falling wingless.

Climbing without a rope.

Hopeless.

It's not fair and Steve hates being so helpless. Hates that he's got to entrust Danny's care to others. That he's got to leave Danny with the doctors. That he can't stay with him to make sure that he's going to be okay, to speak life. To promise Danny whatever the hell it is that he needs to promise him to keep the man alive and by his side.

"Stop." Kono's voice is hard. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, and she's trembling. "Just stop, Steve. You've got to let the doctors work on him. He's going to be okay. He's got to be okay."

"I'm not giving up on Danny," Steve says, running a hand through his hair. He's not.

He's just not sure he can keep going through this. Having Danny safe and in his sight one moment and then having his life hanging in the balance the next.

Steve sits heavily in the chair that Chin leads him to. It's uncomfortable and he hates it, but he's going to sit in there and wait until he gets word that Danny's alright, that he can return to the room and sit by his side in an even more uncomfortable chair.

Capo and Mullins are in police custody. Zanetti's in a hospital across town with a heavy guard of police. Steve should be off interrogating Capo and Mullins, though he doubts that Mullins knows anything of importance. He should be doing something other than sitting in the waiting room staring off into space, praying to whatever gods come to mind that Danny's going to be alright.

He's not going to give up.

He's not.

He's not going to let Zanetti or Capo win.

"It's going to be alright, Steve," Chin says, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder, handing him a cup of coffee and leaning back in his own chair.

"Why did he have to be so...so Danny? Kono asks, pulling a hand through her hair.

* * *

Danny's sleeping when Steve's allowed to return to the room, and there's no sense of the passage of time, just an intense need to see Danny for himself to believe that he's really alive. There's an almost peaceful look on Danny's face, as though he's only been sleeping this entire time, not battling for his life, again.

To look at Danny now, no one would know that he almost died, for the third time. That doctors and nurses had brought him back from the brink of death just moments ago, finally allowing an anxious Steve into the room after getting Danny's ailing heart working and then stabilized. Several tense minutes had bled into an hour, and all that time, out in the waiting room, Chin and Kono had sat by Steve, plying him with coffee, speaking words of encouragement that he didn't hear, and just sitting there, holding his hand while he waited.

"You've got to stop doing this, Danno," Steve whispers, kissing Danny's forehead, then his lips.

He wonders if Danny was Sleeping Beauty, if it would be his kiss that would wake him, or Grace's. Knows that if he's thinking those types of thoughts, it's a sign that he's overtired, though he doesn't want to admit it.

There's still work to be done. Still people to bring down; an entire corrupt system to sort out, and Steve doesn't know how deep Capo's influence goes. How many people are a part of the odd little kingdom that the madman had tried to establish. It's bizarre, and yet it's not the strangest scheme that he's encountered over the years.

He traces a set of stitches on Danny's chest, already envisioning the scars that will take their place. Refusing to believe that Danny's heart will give out before then, or even after that. Danny's got the biggest, strongest heart of anyone that Steve knows.

"We should tell his family," Chin's voice is pitched low, neutral. But it's not a suggestion, and Steve knows that the older man is right, he's just not ready for the hospital to be flooded by the Williams, most of whom he's never met.

He doesn't know how much Danny's told his family about his life in Hawaii, about why he left. If he's mentioned his relationship with Steve, Steve's proposal, their engagement. Doesn't want to assume that things between them are still the same, that Danny still wants to marry him.

"Steve," Chin persists, places a hand on Steve's elbow. "Do you want me to make the calls?"

Yes, he does, but Steve shakes his head and takes a deep breath. This is something that he needs to do. He's Danny's partner, his lover, the man he hopes to someday be tied to forever. He needs to make the calls, because if he can't do this now, what will that mean for their future together?

Steve clears his throat. "I'll do it."

His fingers are still poised above Danny's heart and he can feel the heat radiating off of Danny. It's comforting.

Steve places his palm flat on Danny's chest, directly over his heart, closes his eyes, and counts each heartbeat, getting lost in the rhythm, grateful that, though it's a little quick, it's regular. Chin's hand is still on his elbow in a show of support that makes Steve feel indebted to the man.

"He needs his rest," Chin's voice is soft, reasonable. Steve knows what Chin isn't saying, that Steve needs to rest, too.

He doesn't want to rest, doesn't want to leave Danny's side. Doesn't want to do anything other than sit beside Danny and listen to his heart beat, make sure that it doesn't stop.

"I almost killed him," Steve confesses, Danny's heart thudding against his palm.

"Steve, what happened with Danny, it's not your fault," Chin says, tightening his grip on Steve's elbow.

Steve shakes his head, chuckles darkly. "Not talking about Danny, Chin. Zanetti, I almost killed Zanetti."

"Good," Kono's voice is unexpected, and Steve turns to look at her. She's got her hair, damp from a shower, pulled back in a ponytail, and Steve can see bruises on her knuckles. She's favoring one of her wrists, and Steve smiles in spite of everything.

"You really do pack quite a punch," Steve says, no small measure of pride in his voice.

"It's a damn good thing I do." There's no mistaking the venom in her quietly spoken words as anything other than red-hot anger, and Steve shares a look with Chin, who's eyeing his cousin with trepidation.

Kono flicks her ponytail, almost like a whip, and spears Steve and Chin with a deadly glare. She's practically vibrating with anger as she walks across the room, her hands clenching and unclenching, chest heaving.

"If you two ever," Kono jabs a finger in each of their direction, "pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you." Her voice is soft, no doubt in deference to Danny's condition, the doctors having cautioned that he shouldn't be stressed or worked up over anything, that it could cause another setback if he is.

"Kono, we -" Steve's grateful that Chin speaks up in their defense, though Kono holds a hand up, reminiscent of Danny when he's gearing up for a lecture, eyes flashing dangerously, and Chin swallows his words.

"You should have given us a head's up," Kono whispers vehemently, nostrils flaring, hands pantomiming calling or texting in lieu of using words to communicate.

"We were sitting ducks here. No backup, no clue what was going on while you two knuckleheads went off like half-cocked Rambos," Kono's hands are practically flying as she spoke, revealing Danny's influence on the younger officer.

Steve opens his mouth to explain why they hadn't texted or called, but Kono glares at him and shakes her head, ponytail swishing behind her. "Save your excuses. I don't want to hear them. You put Danny and I in danger today. Unnecessarily."

"And you handled it exceedingly well," Steve says, hoping that his words sound more complimentary than fearful.

Kono huffs and shakes her head. "You know, I used to think that Danny was a little too tightly wound, that he should give you a little more slack, but I don't think that anymore. I think that he's right, that you do take too many chances, and, today, you took chances with, not only your own life, but also Danny's, Chin's and mine."

Danny's heartbeat beneath his palm anchors Steve. He can feel his cheeks burning, and wishes that the floor would swallow him up. Kono's eyes are glaring daggers into him, her words cut him to the quick, and his mouth is too dry to provide a suitable response to what she's said.

"We didn't mean to put you, or Danny, in any more danger than you were already in," Chin says, keeping his voice calm and neutral in the face of his cousin's very real anger, letting her know that Steve hadn't been acting alone in the decisions that were made that day. "We did the best we could with what we had, and made what we felt were the best decisions."

"And keeping Danny and I in the dark about Zanetti's little impromptu visit, was the best decision that you could make?" Kono rolls her eyes, places her hands on her hips, clearly not buying it.

"We didn't want to tip Zanetti off," Chin says.

"You know me better than that." Kono turns away from the two of them to look at Danny.

She brushes at a piece of lint on Danny's hospital gown. "You know Danny better than that."

"Kono, I'm sorry," Steve says, suddenly feeling every bit as tired as he is, grateful that Danny's heart is still steadily beating beneath his palm.

"He had a heart attack," Kono's voice cracks, and she scrubs angrily at her face. "And that doctor, Capo, he -"

"I'm sorry we put you in danger." Chin wraps an arm around Kono's shoulders and she buries her face in his chest, pounds her fists into it and grabs a fistful of the fabric. "We knew that you could handle it, though."

Kono raises a tear-streaked face to look at Chin, and Steve's relieved to see a smile. She thumps Chin once more and then pushes away from him.

"You've come a long way from your rookie years," Steve adds, hoping to restore the peace.

"That's not a valid excuse," Kono says, composing herself and straightening her shoulders. "I'm a competent police officer, and I can handle myself in a sticky situation, but don't think this gets either of you off the hook."

She points a menacing finger at each of them in turn, and Steve can only swallow and nod. He wishes that he'd left to make the calls Chin had told him to before Kono had finished her shower.

"Understood," Steve says, holding his hands up in surrender, missing the tha thump of Danny's heartbeat.

"Sure... Kono... can... get... through... that... thick... Army... skull... of... yours," Danny puffs out, voice weak, eyes closed. "But... when... I... try... to... talk ... some... sense... into... you..." Danny waves a hand as he loses the ability to speak.

"Danny." Steve grabs Danny's hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing it. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"Can't... with... you... three... yam...mering... on... about... not...fo...foll...ow...ing...pro... proper... protocol..." Danny sighs and struggles to open his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Kono says in a voice completely devoid of her earlier anger.

Danny chuckles, a dry sounding thing that makes Steve wince and reach for the pitcher of water, only to have Chin hand him a full cup of the lukewarm substance. Steve presses a straw to Danny's lips and smiles when Danny opens his mouth and starts to drink, no questions or reservations, just blind trust.

Such a simple act, and yet it gives Steve hope, makes him think that maybe they will have a future together.

"You give 'em hell, Kono," Danny says, voice a little stronger. "They deserve it. And before you say it, I know, 'Navy, Danno, not Army.'"

"That's a terrible imitation of my voice, Danno," Steve says.

"I'll work on perfecting my apery," Danny says, voice fading, eyes still closed. "Soon as I get my strength back."

"Your apery, Danno?" Steve questions, squeezing Danny's hand, foolishly wanting to keep him talking, even though he needs his rest.

"Can't impersonate you, 'cause you gotta be a person to be impersonated." Danny chuckles at his own very poor joke, wheezing out something about how a seal is not a person. Steve doesn't quite catch it all, but he gets the gist of it.

"Very funny," Steve deadpans. "Laugh it up."

Kono and Chin join in on the laughter and Steve figures that he's beaten, hangs his head and waits it out. It's a welcome sound, laughter, even if it's in response to a very cheesy joke, that barely constitutes as such, about him.

When the laughter dies down, Steve kisses Danny's forehead. "Rest, Danny."

"'Kay, you too," Danny says, voice slurring as sleep starts to overtake him.

Danny drifts off and Steve watches him for several minutes. Watches Danny's chest as it rises and falls with each breath that he takes, and then he smiles, and, nodding to Chin and Kono, he walks out of the room to make the phone calls that he's been dreading. He has no idea what he's going to say, hopes that the right words will come to him when he needs them.


	21. Mixing Metaphors with the Devil Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve questions Capo. He's called Danny's family, don't worry, the doctors want them to wait before descending upon Danny, en force, something about wanting to prevent another heart attack. Steve has to do something productive, much as part of him just wants to sit beside Danny and watch over him as he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No visiting Williams quite yet; wrapping up loose ends with Capo in the next couple of chapters, which decided that they wanted to be written today. Hope that this doesn't disappoint. Remember, 60's - 80's style bad guys (cheesiness and ridiculous motivations; done purposefully). 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's shown support for this through reviews. Your reviews have spurred me to write, and inspired me as well, so, much mahalos.

Steve begins to second-guess his decision to question Capo himself when the doctor starts comparing Danny to a chess piece. Chin and Kono are on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching the interrogation, and Steve knows that if things get out of hand, one, or both of them won't hesitate to interrupt, and take over, should they need to.

Kono and Chin had booked a room at a hotel two days ago and were working on bringing down the corrupt chief of police, working through the proper channels to see just how far Capo's warped influence stretches. Keeping Governor Denning abreast of the situation, they are working in concert with the Governor of New Jersey, unsure of the mayor, who seems to have a connection to the chief of police.

It's a mess, and Danny was caught smack dab in the middle of it all - like a fly in a spider's web. If he'd died in that alley, no one would have been the wiser and he'd have been buried as a John Doe, no one to mourn his passage from one life to the next.

It angers Steve. Danny was no more than a pawn in Capo's twisted mind. A pawn Capo had been hoping to promote to status of knight, eventually king, to Capo's queen. Capo hadn't counted on his other pawns becoming jealous and greedy, though, nor had he counted on Danny's stubbornness, and his strong tie to his daughter and Steve.

It makes Steve sick, thinking about all that Capo has already 'confessed' to during the interrogation - arranged by Governor Denning. Steve knows that Capo is trying to mess with his head and get under his skin like he'd done in the hospital room with Kono and Chin, like he'd been doing to Danny for several months.

He's trying to provoke a reaction out of Steve, by confessing how he'd used the ruse of an undercover operation to break Danny down. How, because of his already weakened state of mind after his experience in the box, it was almost like child's play to draw out the worst that was inside of Danny. How easy it was for him to create a new persona for Danny that would allow him to give release to the darkness within. How simple it was for him to strip Danny of everything that had made him the man that he'd been before the box, before leaving Hawaii, before leaving Steve.

"It, he, was becoming a thing of beauty," Capo brags, broad smile fixed in place. "My work with him was almost complete, and would have been had that idiot trying to take his place. I should have known that my attentions would instill such petty jealousies amongst the peasants. They are only men after all, and not gods."

Steve leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "So, what does that make you? A god?"

_Narcissism,_ the word pops into Steve's head. It doesn't surprise Steve that the man thinks he's a god. He's toying with people, after all. Has been doing so for years if the records that Chin and Kono had uncovered in the man's office - using a warrant - are to be trusted.

Capo laughs and leans forward, elbows resting on the table between them. He shakes his head, a sad, bitter smile replacing the earlier, confident one. "Not quite yet. I was almost there; it was the detective who would have brought me to that hallowed status. But you," Capo stabs a finger at Steve, handcuffs jingling, "stole him from me."

"He was never yours to begin with, Capo," Steve says, leaning forward, meeting Capo's angry gaze with one of his own.

Capo snorts and waves a hand between them, being magnanimous. "Yes, well, I suppose that it was only fair, after all, I stole him from you first. He's a man worth fighting for, isn't he Lieutenant Commander?"

Steve manages to keep his temper in check, just barely, and he presses his palms flat on the table. If he doesn't, he'll be wrapping them around Capo's neck. Steve suspects that the deranged doctor knows that.

"Danny isn't a toy," Steve says, keeping his voice even, "and he's not some kind of bargaining chip. No owns Danny."

"No." Capo takes a deep breath, leans back, as though sensing Steve's ill-will toward him. "As we both know, he's so much more than that. Though, you are wrong on one point, Danny _can_ be owned. But you already know that, or you wouldn't be here, talking to me, trying to figure out how to make him yours once again. The real question is, are you prepared for the fight? Are you man enough, McGarrett, to win our Danny's affections back?"

Steve wants to dive across the table and strangle the smug doctor, but he doesn't. He won't get answers from the man using his fists or his knife. Capo isn't like Zanetti. Force won't work with him.

Capo's a man who values intellect and uses methods of psychology, like Steve uses a knife. Blunt force and physical threats will do very little to sway the doctor. Steve wishes that Danny was there, because Danny would know how to play the game and get Capo to talk. At least, he would have, prior to his time spent in the box, prior to falling victim to the doctor's sick game.

Steve can't lose his cool now, because there's too much hanging in the balance, not the least of which is Danny. Danny, who's family is going to be visiting the hospital in less than a day's time. The doctors had okayed the visit, stressing that it would need to be a calm, relatively short visit. Steve's nervous about meeting Danny's family, unsure of what he's going to tell Danny's parents and sisters. He didn't tell them much on the phone, just that Danny was in the hospital.

"You know, he talked about you," Capo says, bringing Steve back to the present, sensing a change in Steve, wanting to dig the barb in deeper. "During our session. Said that he felt guilty leaving you, and that little girl of his, what is her name?"

There's a dark twinkle in the man's eye, as though he's caught Steve and is now reeling him in. He folds his hands on the table in front of him, almost casually.

Steve leans back, fingers splayed on the table, forcing his mind away from thoughts of Danny at the hospital, undergoing tests to determine how soon he can leave the hospital and what kind of physical therapy he will need to go through to regain his strength. He's good at this. Good at compartmentalizing his feelings. Good at playing games with criminals, though he much prefers to use different methods.

"You must think I'm the brainless Neanderthal that Danny sometimes accuses me of being," Steve says, keeping his eyes trained on Capo's who starts to fidget, eyes flickering to his interlocked hands.

Steve leans forward. "I'm not. Whatever Danny said to you about me, and about anyone else, is privileged information that you're not at liberty to discuss with me, or anyone else, no matter how fucked up that head of yours is."

Capo's lip twitches, and he narrows his eyes at Steve. "I was doing your precious little detective a favor, ridding him of all of those petty insecurities that plague all of mankind. Fashioning him into something better, stronger, a being without inhibitions."

His nostrils flare, the handcuffs make a jarring noise as he moves his hands jerkily.

Knowing that he's pressed one of Capo's buttons, Steve crosses his arms on the table and inches forward, closing the small space between them, even as Capo strives to maintain his distance, leaning back until there's no more room for him to move. It's almost comical, except Steve's aware of what's at stake.

"Does it bother you, at all, that you've got to wait for someone as broken as Danny to practice your _medicine_ on?" The words taste bitter on Steve's tongue, and his gut twists, but he doesn't let any of that show on his face, because Danny's welfare, as well at that of an entire police precinct, maybe more, is hanging in the balance. Steve doesn't have time to mince words, not if he wants answers. Not if he wants to get back to Danny soon and prepare him for the onslaught of his family's visit.

"I mean, it's got to sting a little that you've got to wait until someone is in Danny's weakened mental state before you can work your magic," Steve says, eyebrow arching. "That you are...how can I put this delicately...?"

"How dare you?" Capo hisses. He comes at Steve, in spite of the cuffs that keep him chained to the table, face red with anger.

Steve leans back and smiles, places his hands behind his head. "Uh uh doctor, you wouldn't assault an officer of the law, would you?"

The doctor settles back in his seat, placid mask once more in place. "Touche," he says.

"See, you did think I was the stupid one," Steve says, warming to the game, knowing what it'll take to break Capo like the doctor had strived to break Danny. A nudge here, a suggestion there, and Steve will have the man questioning his own sanity, which is already balancing on a very thin line.

"I'm beginning to think that you're not all brawn with a pretty face," Capo concedes, and Steve can practically see the machinations going on behind the man's hard eyes.

Steve's dealt with this kind of man before, and knows which buttons to push, how to instill fear without even lifting a finger. It takes time and patience, and though Steve's heart insists that he be with Danny, he knows that if he leaves now, Capo will never crack. Not because Chin and Kono aren't competent interrogators, but because Capo's only interested in severing the connection that Steve has to Danny, and isolating the man once again.

It's Isolation that Danny had ultimately been afraid of, which had driven him mad and then driven him from Steve. It was that same sense of isolation which had attracted Capo to Danny in the first place, and made it easy for the man to manipulate him.

Isolation is the key, and Steve's willing to bet that it's what Capo is most afraid of himself, because he knows that often times people fear most what they see, and try to eliminate, or capitalize upon, in others.

The Bible verse, _Matthew 7:3,_ "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?" comes to mind, though Steve has no idea how it got there, thinks it might have to do with mother's influence when he'd been a kid and they'd gone to church. He'd never stuck with the practice after his mother 'died,' because he had refused to believe in a god who would take his mother from him and his family. Now that he knows the truth of his mother's 'death' he doubts that god would have anything to do with him were he to change his mind.

"Far from it, doctor," Steve uses the man's formal title though Capo's as far from a doctor as one can get. He forces tense muscles to relax. "We both know that Danny's the pretty one."

 


	22. Mixing Metaphors with the Devil Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve continues to question Capo while Chin and Kono watch (Chin's p.o.v.).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and encourage me to write - communication from readers spurs me on. I am grateful.

"What the hell is he doing?" Kono asks, pacing in front of the mirror, throwing her hands up and finally stopping to stand in front of the mirror and glare at Steve who's engaged in what appears to be an intimate discussion with Capo.

"Giving Capo a taste of his own medicine," Chin says, though he winces when Steve says something particularly scathing about what Danny had been like after he'd been removed from the box. Detailing how weak the blonde detective had been, and how he'd been terrified of the dark, how Steve had put up with it, because that's what was expected of him.

Steve appears to be interested in what Capo has to say, excited even, when the doctor talks about how he'd used Danny's fear of the dark, of small, tight spaces to break him of those very fears, and yet keep him beholden to them. It was genius, and, had the doctor not been doing those things to help Danny, Chin might even be impressed.

"It sounds to me like he's giving Capo more ammunition to use against Danny," Kono says, pressing her palms against the glass partition.

Chin places a hand on Kono's shoulder, it's tense and he regrets that Steve and he hadn't given her and Danny a heads up about their plan. "He knows what he's doing."

"Pardon me while I question you and Steve with your covert way of handling things," Kono bites the words out, and shrugs Chin's hand off. "We should take over, Chin. Steve's too close to this."

"And we're not?" Chin asks softly. "We care about Danny, too, Kono. Capo isn't going to talk to us though. He's interested in Steve and Danny, because he's finally realizing what we already knew, that you can't have one or the other. Steve and Danny are a package deal."

Kono turns to look at him, and Chin pulls her into a hug, in spite of the fact that she's got her hands balled up in fists. This whole damn mess has been hard on all of them, and he can't wait until it's over.

"The way he's talking about Danny," Kono says, "it's like he never loved him."

"I know, but, he's breaking Capo down, getting him to trust him, and Capo's starting to slip up," Chin says, willing Kono to listen beyond the callous way that Steve's speaking about Danny for the information that he's gleaning from Capo.

"I take back what I said earlier," Steve says, voice filled with pride that Chin knows is fake, but makes him feel sick anyway. "You're not insane, you've got a brilliant mind."

"Brilliant mind, but still insane," Chin mutters, watching as Capo preens at the praise, sitting up taller in his chair, handcuffs clinking against the table.

"Together, we could finish the work I started with the detective," Capo says, eyes shining.

Kono holds her breath, places her fists on the glass partition, presses her forehead against it, and Chin stands close, hand resting on her back. Steve's jaw is clenched tight, the only visible sign of how hard this is for him.

"I'd like that very much," Steve says, leaning across the table. "Tell me what you were planning."

Kono breathes out and closes her eyes. There's a small smile on her face as Capo explains, not only what his plans for Danny were, but what he'd been planning for the whole city. It's truly terrifying in scope.

"And what is the Mayor's role in all of this again?" Steve asks, head resting in a hand, giving off the appearance that he's hanging on Capo's every word.

"See, that's the beauty of it. He was one of my clients, before the gods spoke to me. He was my first, but he's imperfect. I've already put everything in place to eliminate him." Capo places a hand on Steve's arm.

"When?" Steve asks, not flinching.

"Tomorrow afternoon." Capo smiles, traces a scar on Steve's thumb with a forefinger. "It's going to be spectacular. I'd wanted to give Danny the honor of killing him, but someone lesser will have to do. Unless..." Capo gives Steve a speculative look and grips Steve's hand, rubbing his thumb over it.

Chin can see that Steve's about to snap in the way that the man's feet shift beneath the table, where Capo can't see. It's Steve's only tell, other than the way that his jaw twitches.

"It's a good thing we're getting all of this all on tape," Kono says, head popping up off the glass as she pushes away to resume pacing, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "I can't believe the level of insanity. Does he even know what he's saying, how crazy it sounds? Does he actually think that Steve is going to volunteer to kill the Mayor?"

"You want me to do it," Steve's voice is matter-of-fact. He pulls his hand free of Capo's grasp, only making the unstable man want him more.

"You'd be perfect," Capo says, practically salivating at the thought.

Steve nods and then leans across the table until he's inches from Capo's face, close enough to kiss, or strangle the man.

Chin stops the tape, holding a finger up to Kono who opens her mouth to protest. He shakes his head, and turns her around so that she doesn't witness what Steve does next. The fewer witnesses, the better. He knows Kono's going to turn around, even before she does it.

Steve cups the back of Capo's neck with the hand Capo had held, rubs his thumb over the nape. He stares into the man's eyes and then purses his lips, waits until they're millimeters apart before slamming Capo's head against the table once, and then a second time.

Steve twists Capo's head to the side, ignoring the fresh blood that flows from the man's nose that Kono had broken the day before, as well as the man's blubbering pleas. Steve's broken the nose again. He pins Capo's head in place, leans down until his lips brush against the man's ear.

"That's for messing with my partner's head," Steve says in a voice that nearly causes Chin's blood to run cold.

Steve rounds the table, still keeping Capo's head pressed against the surface of it. He yanks on the handcuffs, bringing the man's hands up, and placing them on the table beside the man's head. Capo whimpers.

Steve kneels so that Capo can see into his eyes, which are cold and deadly.

"This is why Danny calls me a Neanderthal," Steve says, smiling. "You see, if he was here, he'd be telling me to stop right about now. He'd actually be protecting scum like you. Not because he cares about scum, but because he cares about me. The reason your demented plan didn't work was because you don't know Danny, not the way I do."

"Should we go in there now?" Kono asks, eyes glued to the scene unfolding before her.

"You shouldn't be watching this," Chin says, knowing it's a lost cause. Kono's too much like Steve, too much like him and Danny, too much like all of them.

Kono snorts and laughs at Chin's protest, though she sobers up quickly when Steve pulls his knife out and jams it into the table next to Capo's bleeding nose.

"Think Capo's going to complain about police brutality?"

Chin crosses his arms over his chest. "Even if he does, he's not going to be garnering any sympathy after what he's confessed to."

"What..." Capo swallows, eyes crossing as they try to focus on the knife that's still vibrating from where it's stuck in the table. "What are you going to do to me?"

"What you tried to do to Danny, by isolating him from his family and friends," Steve says, pulling the knife free. His voice is low and menacing, mouth close to Capo's ear. Steve digs the tip of the knife into the table, close to the webbing between Capo's thumb and index finger, twists it.

"I'm going to have you put into the deepest, darkest hole that the prison system has to offer," Steve says, letting the knife slip and catching it before it can do more than nick Capo's thumb. A small bead of blood wells up, and Steve backs away from Capo, who, even though he's free, stays put, as though he's frozen in place.

The psychologist is breathing heavily through his mouth, eyes seeking out Steve. "You...you can't do that."

"That's where you're wrong," Steve says. "I can, and I will. You'll spend the rest of your pathetic life locked away where no one will hear your crazy ramblings. It'll be just you, four solid walls and darkness so deep that you'll feel like you're drowning in it. There'll be no one to talk to, no one to manipulate, no one to feel sorry for you."

Steve gets into Capo's face and taps him on the cheek, making the man flinch, before walking away.

Steve opens the door and walks out when Capo starts to threaten with everything from the loss of his job to the loss of life. He shuts the door behind him, and Chin can see in the stiff way that his friend walks that it's hard for him to walk away and not finish what he's started with Capo. There's a small part of Chin that wants to see Steve take Capo apart with his hands, a slightly bigger part that wants to help.

"Holy shit," Kono breathes out.

"That about sums it up," Chin says, smiling wryly and dragging his hands through his hair, wondering how he's going to explain Capo's freshly broken nose to the authorities who aren't under the man's thumb.

He knows that Steve's already on his way to the hospital, trusting him and Kono to take care of everything else. He doesn't mind, knows where he'd be if their roles were reversed, knows how Steve's skin must be crawling with what he had to do to get answers from Capo.

In this case,Chin thinks, the ends do justify the means, and he sends up a prayer of thanks to Malia.

"What are we going to tell the officers when they come to collect him?" Kono asks, gesturing toward Capo, who still hasn't moved a muscle.

"The truth," Chin says, smiling when Kono's brow furrows and she opens her mouth to protest. "That Capo slammed his head into the table when Steve refused to do what he wanted. That the doctor was trying to set Steve up because he couldn't manipulate him."

Kono snaps her mouth shut, and frowns at him. "That was mean."

Chin shrugs.

"How are we going to explain the lack of video feed while that was taking place?" Kono asks.

"A glitch," Chin says, and he start to record again when Capo raises his head, pressing trembling fingers to his broken nose. He calls for an officer to come transfer Capo to the infirmary. The officer doesn't question the explanation.


	23. Family and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's family visits and talking happens. Some declarations and kissing too. (fluff and emotions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written using Written?Kitten! and while listening to a number of different songs before, "Honey," by Torres, became the ultimate inspiration for this. I hope that this chapter isn't too sappy or all over the place. It's fluffy and possibly cheesy, and maybe too 'feminine'. I thought it was going to be complete at 3000 words, but it's a little over double that.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope that this is enjoyable...
> 
> This story is AU, and does not necessarily take current events on the show into consideration; therefore, Danny's mom has not visited the island.

"Oh, I promise doctor, we'll be very quiet."

The muffled sounding voice is very familiar and Danny fights the cobwebs in his head to put a name to it. He feels a straw at his lips and Steve's five-o'clock-shadow brushing against his own, recently shaved, (by Steve) cheek. He takes a sip of the water, and doesn't protest when his bed's raised and the pillow beneath him is fluffed.

"Could get used to that," Danny mumbles, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He's still struggling to open his eyes when he takes another sip of the soothing liquid.

The sound of a throat clearing nearby pushes Danny to try harder to get his eyes to cooperate with him. Danny knows he should recognize the owner of that dry sounding cough, but his mind's still a little fuzzy, no doubt from the drugs that are pumping through his veins, keeping him relatively calm and pain free.

"I...Danny?" the voice that Danny's still trying to place says, and he feels a distinctly female hand rest tentatively atop his own. A sob escapes the woman, and Danny forces his eyes open, his heart nearly doubling its tempo when, even with his eyes open, he doesn't recognize the owner of the voice because his vision's still unclear.

"Hey, Danno, it's okay." Danny searches out the faces around him - now that his eyes are finally open, he can see that there are several people in his room - for the one that belongs to Steve. "Take it easy, partner."

"Steve?" Danny feels small and well out of his element, wonders if the doctors, or Zanetti and his men, are back, though the atmosphere around him doesn't feel heavy or dangerous. Danny shifts his hand beneath the slight weight of the woman's hand and searches out Steve's, ignoring a second broken sounding sob that accompanies his actions.

"I'm right here," Steve says, and then he's grasping Danny's hand, holding it tight. "Do you need me to get the doctors?"

Danny purses his lips and shakes his head. He's had enough of doctors and nurses to last him a lifetime. What he needs right now is for his eyes to start functioning the way that eyes are _supposed_ to function, and for the fog to clear from his mind.

"I need you to do me a favor and calm down, Danny," Steve says, his voice low and soothing. "Can you do that for me?"

Danny nods, forces a breath through his nose and then holds his breath as he counts to ten, before letting it out. He repeats the process until his chest is no longer tight and Steve's face is no longer a blur. It's something that he'd practiced with one of the physical therapists, and though he'd been skeptical at first, it had worked.

"That's it, Danny."

Steve smiles at him. It's a tight, nervous smile and Danny frowns.

"What's wrong?" Danny asks, voice sounding like he's swallowed a frog.

He's worried, wondering if he'll have to pretend to be Mickey again, though he has a vague memory of Steve explaining to him that he'd taken care of Zanetti and Capo and that Kono and Chin were working with the local authorities and the FBI to finish rounding up those who were in cahoots with Capo, or under his control. Danny doesn't fully comprehend everything yet, and there's a part of him that really doesn't care about any of it just so long as he can put it all behind him and move on.

"Your family's here," Steve says, voice strained. "Remember, we talked about this yesterday?"

He does remember. Remembers Steve pacing the room and telling Danny about the calls he'd made, and how the doctors had approved a visit - as long as it was brief and stress free - and how he hoped that Danny was okay with it. It hadn't been a discussion as much as it had been a confession on Steve's part, because he'd told Danny's family about the shooting, though not any of the gory details, and had given them a head's up about his condition.

"I remember," Danny says, a little defensively, and he chances a look at the people who are standing, a little awkwardly, just behind Steve. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

"I'd beg to differ with that," his father says, moving forward to stand next to Steve.

Danny winces at the slightly angry tone that his father uses, and he bites his lip. Steve squeezes his hand and Danny takes comfort from the gesture.

"I'd better go, let you have some time alone with your family," Steve says, releasing his grip on Danny's hand.

Danny refuses to let go, though, and turns his eyes away from his father, silently begging Steve to stay. He loves his family. Really. They're wonderful and loving, but right now he can't stand the thought of facing them alone, not after everything that's happened. Not after what he's done, who he's become.

"You don't need to leave, Mr. McGarrett," his mother says. She places a hand on Steve's shoulder and smiles down at Danny. "It's clear that our son would like you to stay, and the doctors did say that we shouldn't upset him."

Danny can tell that, for his sake, she's trying not to cry, and he hates that he's put his mother in this position.

"Call me, Steve, Mrs. Williams." Steve's voice cracks a little toward the end, and he clears his throat to mask the sound.

"Clara," his mother says, winking at Danny as she holds out her hand to Steve and they shake.

Danny wishes that the hospital bed would swallow him up. He's spoken to his mother, at length, about Steve, about how much he loves the man, and he knows that she's teasing both of them right now, in spite of her very obvious worry for him.

"Clara, pleasure to meet you. In person." Steve looks like he's been forced to swallow a mouthful of tacks, and his palm's grown sweaty in Danny's hand.

"You can call me, Mr. Williams," Danny's father says and Danny groans when Steve swallows nervously and nods as he shakes the proffered hand.

"Nice to officially meet you," Clara says. "Danny's told me _a lot_ about you."

"Hopefully it's all good stuff," Steve says, a little nervously, and Danny can practically hear the man's mind working as he's no doubt going over all of the tight places that they've been in - how often he's put the both of them in danger.

"Oh, it's all good," Karen, Danny's sister, says, sidling up to the bed and winking at Danny. His sister has come without her husband and children, which Danny is silently grateful for - he loves them, but right now he's a little too tired to deal with that many people.

" _Very_ good," Karen adds.

Danny closes his eyes and groans. This is not good for his heart, not at all. He'd shared certain _details_ with his sister about his relationship with Steve, because he hadn't had anyone else to talk to, now he wonders if he had been in his right mind at the time.

"Son." His father rests a hand on his knee and jiggles it. "You okay?"

Danny opens his eyes, grimacing. "I'm fine, Pop."

"Look, he's blushing," Karen says, and there's definitely glee in her voice, her lip's curled upward in a smug grin that Danny wants to wipe off her face.

"I really should go," Steve says, eyes comically wide. Danny maintains the grip that he has on Steve's hand, refusing to let the man leave him.

"That won't be necessary, Steve." Danny's father's voice is just shy of being stern. "If I'm to understand this correctly, you and my son are...a couple?"

Danny holds his breath, tightens his grip on Steve's hand when it becomes clear that he's about to bolt. Steve's face is a bright shade of pink, and his eyes seem to be searching for an escape route.

"Emotionally retarded," Danny mutters to himself, no real acrimony in his assessment of his partner. He knows that it's not exactly a fair judgement, but he's a little stressed as well, in spite of his mother's admonishment to the doctor that they wouldn't cause him any stress.

He'd meant to tell Steve that he'd told his parents about their relationship. It had been on the tip of his tongue for months after they'd become a serious couple, but there'd always been a case, or something else that had taken precedence, and then his life had come unglued and he hadn't been able to focus on anything other than trying to recover.

Steve stiffens, and he gets a panicked look in his eyes, and Danny just wants to kiss him, reassure him that everything's okay, that his parents aren't going to eat him alive, in spite of his father putting on this overprotective act.

"Danny," Steve practically whines, voice pleading. "I...I should check on Chin and Kono. Make sure that -"

"Babe, it's okay," Danny says, tugging on Steve's hand and beckoning him closer so that he can kiss him. Steve's fingers fly to his lips, as though they've been burned, and Danny almost laughs. It's endearing, Steve's shyness in front of his family.

Steve blushes a deeper shade of red and he turns to face Danny's father. "Yeah, I uh...I uh...I..."

His father raises an eyebrow, the edge of a lip quirking upward the only sign that he's merely teasing Steve. Danny wants to smack his father, not that he ever would, because that's just wrong on so many levels.

"You, what?" Danny's father asks. "From what I've heard tell of, you've put my son's life in danger on countless occasions."

Steve opens his mouth and closes it, a panicked look on his face that makes Danny's heart go out to him. He frowns at his father and pierces him with a look that tells him to 'knock it off'. His father shrugs in return, crossing his arms over his chest, and Danny realizes that this is an interrogation the likes of which he hadn't thought would happen after he'd survived the high school years.

"I'm sorry, sir," Steve says, raising his head and meeting Danny's father's gaze. "I...your son has taught me a great deal about police work, and I -"

"Pop," Danny says, making a chopping motion with his hand as he says, "enough. Steve's not put me in any danger that I've not unwillingly gone into. It's a two-way street. We're partners and -"

"Dom, we're not supposed to upset Danny," his mother intervenes, giving his father a pointed look, keeping her voice even. There's some tension there, and Danny frowns at that, wondering what's going on between his parents.

"I'm fine, Ma," Danny assures her, though in reality he _is_ tired, and it feels like he's run a marathon, on one leg.

"Pop, Ma, Karen, this," he raises his hand up and then down, encompassing Steve's tall frame in the gesture, "is Steven J. McGarrett, the man that I love."

Steve gives him a tentative smile and squeezes Danny's hand, eyes searching Danny's face as though fearful that he's lying. Danny rolls his eyes, and pulls Steve down for another kiss, this one a little longer and more intimate than the last one. Karen makes a low whistling sound, and Danny's mother makes a happy sound at the back of her throat. His father coughs, a little uncomfortably, and Danny reluctantly lets Steve pull away, mainly because he's short of breath.

After straightening himself, Steve turns to face Danny's father, cheeks red, eyes shining with love. "Sir, I love your son, and I've asked him to marry me," he blurts out, eyes bugging out when he realizes what he's said.

Danny's father shoots a look at him, and Danny nods, a smile splitting his face. He hasn't felt this light in what feels like forever.

"You sure about this, son?" he asks.

"Yeah, Pop, I am," Danny says, the words feeling thick in his throat as tears threaten. Damn drugs making him overly emotional.

"I love him, and, if he's still willing to have me after what I did..." Danny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Well, I'd like to spend the rest of my life with him."

His father takes a deep breath, a thoughtful look on his face. Danny holds his breath and Steve's hand nearly crushes his from holding it so tight.

"Honestly, Dom," his mother says, whacking his father on the arm and then pulling Steve into a hug. She holds him at arm's length and then pulls him close, and kisses him on the cheek.

"You can be so stubborn. If this man makes our son happy, who are we to stand in the way?" she asks, throwing her hands wide and hitting his father in the arm again.

"I was just making sure, Clara," his father says, rubbing his arm and scowling.

"Well, I for one, am happy that Danny's finally come to his senses," Karen says, kissing him on the forehead and then rubbing her lipstick off with a thumb. She turns to kiss Steve on the cheek, and then does the same, eyes shining with tears.

Karen had listened to Danny talk about Steve when he'd first left Hawaii. She hadn't passed judgement on Danny, or said anything to indicate that she thought he was a fool. She'd let him vent and cry, and then she'd suggested that he stop running away, and go back to Steve.

He wishes that he had listened to her, that he'd returned to Steve instead of taking on a shady undercover job. All of this could have been avoided had he just listened to reason - had he just trusted his own heart.

"We were all so worried about you," his mother says, and Steve moves aside, squeezing Danny's hand before finally releasing it, but staying in Danny's line of vision.

"First you disappeared, and then Grace called, on her birthday, looking for you, and we knew that something was wrong." His mother brushes at tears, and he holds her hand.

"I'm sorry, Ma, Pop, Karen," Danny says, throat tight. "I thought I had everything under control, that I'd do this one job and..." he looks to Steve as words fail him completely.

"You and your father are two of the most stubborn people I've ever met," his mother says suddenly, straightening up her small frame. "Honestly, Daniel Williams, you need to apologize to the man that you love and then you need to get better so that you can go home with him. Make honest men out of the two of you."

She cups his cheek with a hand and brushes aside a stray tear that Danny hadn't even realized had escaped. He feels all of five years old again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar, sneaking a cookie before dinner. Except this is much more worse, and the guilt is much heavier.

Danny draws in a shuddering breath and nods. He catches Steve's eye and feels an almost overwhelming wave of love wash over him.

His father pats his knee and offers him a smile. "You've got my blessing, son. I just wanted to be sure that you knew what you were getting into. Your breakup with Rachel nearly killed you. I just don't want you to be hurt."

"Thank you, Pop," Danny whispers around the lump in his throat.

His father strides over to Steve and enfolds him in a hug that causes Steve to squeak. He kisses him on either cheek and then releases him.

"I love my son. I want what's best for him. He's always been passionate, and once he gets something into his head, he's like one of them pit-bulls, doesn't let it go until he's chewed it all to pieces and it's been thought to death. He's got his mother's affinity for words -"

"And his father's stubborn streak," his mother pipes up, giving Danny's father an odd look.

"I understand, sir, ma'am," Steve says, back stiff, arms to his side, retreating to the safety of formality in the midst of so much emotion. Danny wishes that he could wrap Steve in a great big hug and ease some of his discomfort.

"Oh, honey," Danny's mother's voice is filled with tenderness and she reaches for Steve, pulling him toward the bed to stand beside her. She sighs deeply and rubs his back. "None of that formality. We aren't going to bite, promise."

Danny opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut, his cheeks growing red when he almost lets slip a quip about Steve and biting. It's a story that no one, least of all his mother and father, need to hear. He blames the near slip of the tongue on the drugs, which are starting to wear off if the ache that he feels in his chest is anything to go by.

"I don't think you do understand, son," Danny's father says, standing on the other side of Steve and clasping an arm around his shoulder. Danny can see Steve stiffen and he winces in sympathy. His father's an intimidating man when he wants to be, and it's clear to Danny that his father wants to be intimidating.

"My son loves you, and I've just given him my blessing to marry you. When he loves, he loves with all of his heart. He's not someone who dabbles in things. He's either all in or all out. Hot or cold. My Daniel isn't wishy-washy." His father waggles his hand in the air and then lets it drop to rest on the top of Danny's.

"What my father is trying to say," Karen says, drily, "is that my little brother can be a stubborn jackass at times. He's not perfect, and when he gets an idea in that thick skull of his, whether it's good or bad, he'll act on it. But, if you hurt him, you'll have the Williams' to answer to, even if he is being a stubborn ass and doing something monumentally stupid."

Danny's grateful that she doesn't mention his most recent act of stupidity in running away from Steve and Hawaii. His parents don't know much about that - he'd told them he was on vacation.

He hadn't told them about the box either. Hadn't wanted to worry them with something they couldn't do anything about. Steve had tried to get him to call home, he'd refused to let him tell his parents, he supposes that's why Steve didn't ask his permission to call them this time.

Steve gives Danny a wide-eyed look and swallows, clearly nervous, which is so uncharacteristic that it warms Danny's heart. Steve is rarely nervous. Uncomfortable with kids and hysterical witnesses, yes, but nervous, never. Danny glares at his sister, and manages to flip her the bird without his mother seeing.

"Danny and Karen, I'd have thought that you two would have outgrown those juvenile behaviors by now," his mother says, sighing, and Danny quickly schools his face into a mask of innocence. "Daniel, don't think that I didn't see that lewd gesture."

"Are you sure you want to marry my brother?" Karen asks, flipping Danny off behind their mother's back, and sticking her tongue out. "He can be such a kid."

Steve looks a little overwhelmed, and Danny would rescue him, except for the fact that he looks so damn adorable when he's all flustered. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Pop, I hurt Steve. I was wishy-washy. Things got too much awhile back, and I uh...I kind of ran away," Danny says in a burst, voice quiet, breaking the almost companionable silence that had descended upon the room.

He feels tears burning his eyes at the confession, and, though he's a grown man, there's a part of him that's worried about disappointing his father. The man might claim to be a man of few words, but when he wants to, as he's demonstrated, he can give all of them a run for their money in the loquacious department.

His father had never hesitated to lecture Danny and his siblings when he felt that it was warranted. He'd also not been a stranger to the using spankings when he felt that the situation merited them - growing up, Danny's backside had smarted on numerous occasions, but his father had never used excessive force, had never abused him or his brother and sister.

There's no doubt in Danny's mind that admitting to his mother and father that he'd failed to face a tough situation, head on, meant that one of his father's long-winded lectures (Danny had come by them quite honestly) was forthcoming. His mother's hand tightens on his.

"Daniel, honey, we're not mad at you," she says, giving him a sad, yet understanding smile. "I can't pretend to even understand what happened to you, and I'm not going to ask you to tell me about it, but I am going to ask that you talk to someone about it, baby." She brushes a stray strand of hair off of his forehead.

"We love you, sweetheart, and I..." she traces a finger beneath her eye, catching a tear before it can roll down her face and make her mascara run. "Sweetheart, we want you to be happy."

"Son, whatever happened before today is in the past. You need to put it behind you. Today's a new day, and..." his father trails off, and Danny risks a look at his father, surprised to see that the man's blue eyes are shining, and his mouth is twisted with emotion.

"And, son, you know how I feel about cliches, but, really, it's a gift, and I have an inkling that this young man standing next to me is a gift as well. Danny, seems to me that you've been given many second chances. Hell, maybe even some third chances - there was that one time with the ceiling fan when your mother and I thought that -"

"Pop," Danny groans, palming his face. "Please not that story."

"I take it Steve hasn't heard that one?" his father asks, the lecturing tone temporarily derailed at the prospect of telling an infamous, when-Danny-was-a-toddler, story.

"I'd very much like to hear that story," Steve interjects before Danny can protest. Danny glares at him through his fingers, and Steve shrugs, eyes twinkling.

"Well, when Danny was three," Danny's father starts, waxing to the subject, arm tightening around Steve's shoulders.

"He got it into his head that he was going to fly. And, well, you know how Danny gets when he has an idea," his father says, hand waving in the air between them.

Steve nods, a completely serious look on his face, though his eyes are still sparkling with humor in spite of Danny's now more blatant glare.

Karen giggles. "This is a great story, oh, and have you heard about the time that Danny -"

"Don't you dare," Danny growls, pointing a finger at his sister and shaking his head, already knowing where this is going. "Or I'll tell about the time that you made a necklace out of Mom's -"

"That's enough out of both of you," his mother says, and though she hasn't shouted the words, they seem to ring in Danny's ears. "Now, be quiet and let your father tell the story." She smiles, it's a favorite of hers as well.

She makes a show of fluffing Danny's pillow and gives him a look that begs him to be patient. Danny sighs and raises his eyes toward the ceiling. He'd thought that he'd put the days of his father telling his boyfriends and girlfriends embarrassing stories about him behind him. Apparently not. He almost groans when he thinks about the photo albums that his mother and sister will no doubt show Steve when they get the chance.

"What happened?" Steve asks.

"Well, Danny developed this contraption - he had such a vivid imagination when he was a child."

Steve snorts and gives Danny a look that indicates he thinks Danny has not outgrown his childhood gift of imagination.

Danny's father approximates the shape of the flying apparatus that Danny had created when he'd been three, spreading his hands wide.

Danny can still remember it, and, if the fan had been just a little stronger, it would have worked. He's still a little sore about the whole incident.

"He called it his 'licopter," his father says, speaking more animatedly as he gets into the story, "and I thought nothing of it. I thought he'd just carry it around the house and play around with it. I had no idea he'd actually try to make the thing fly. You should've seen him work on that thing. He was so proud of it, chest puffed out, and strutting around the house like Clint Eastwood, and he was so determined."

His father shakes his head, and Steve chuckles and nods. He shoots a look at Danny, and Danny grits his teeth, because it's a look that Steve normally reserves for soft, fluffy kittens, and the war movies he watches.

"He marched around the house with that thing held like a baby in his arms - it was nothing but a tangled mess of jump-ropes, torn sections of cardboard boxes that he'd colored with markers, and odd bits and pieces that he'd collected from around the house. I think he even had a couple of his sister's barrettes in it," his father says.

"Hey, those were my bolts, they held everything together," Danny says defensively, picking at a non-existent loose thread on his sheet.

Steve's holding laughter in, and Danny's father's face has a smile on it that Danny hasn't seen in several years. He relaxes a little and settles back for to endure the telling of the rest of the story, his heart soaring a little when Steve reaches for his hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb when his father gets to the part where three-year-old Danny used one of the jump-ropes to lasso the ceiling fan.

His father's wiping at his eyes, laughing as he gets to the really good part where Danny had swung himself up onto the cardboard 'seat' of his 'licopter, and rode round and round the living room, 'flying' through the air like an acrobat.

"Truth is, I didn't see that part, but his sister, Karen did," his father admits.

"Let me guess," Steve says, eyes crinkling. "He puked."

Danny's mother makes a face. "All over the place - the couch, the windows, the carpeting; I swear, I was cleaning it up for months afterwards. It was all over poor Karen, who ran crying from the room, claiming that her brother had 'helicoptered' her dress. If it hadn't been for that, we might not have gotten there in time..." his mother's voice softens and her smile falters and she places a hand on Danny's leg, as though reassuring herself that he's okay, that he survived that day all of those years ago.

Steve frowns down at Danny, forehead wrinkling in concern, even though he's hearing a story about something that happened decades ago, and it's obvious that Danny's survived it. He tightens his grip on Danny's hand.

His father clears his throat, looks directly at Danny while he finishes the story. "In spite of the fact that Danny weighed very little at the time, his weight was a little too much for the ceiling fan - it was old. It crashed, bringing down a good portion of the ceiling with it. Danny was trapped beneath one of the blades and a panel of the ceiling. He was so lucky that day."

" _We_ were lucky that day," his father says, and he lays a hand on Danny's chest, mindful of the damage that lies beneath the hospital issued shirt.

"Yes, we were," his mother says, sniffing at the memory.

Karen shudders, her mouth twisting as though she's swallowed something that tastes bad. Danny hadn't realized how much this story had affected her, or any of them. It had been something they'd laughed about afterwards.

"I never wore that dress again," she says, voice filled with an overly dramatic sadness that breaks the heaviness that's settled over them. Danny gives her a grateful smile.

"And what's the moral of that story?" his father asks, raising his eyebrows, voice sober.

Danny rolls his eyes, but smiles crookedly and says, "Always test the tensile strength of what you expect to hold you up, _before_ attempting to fly."

It's a rote answer by now, repeated so many times over the years every time he's done something spectacularly stupid that's put his life in unnecessary danger.

He's never forgotten that particular lesson. He had to have six stitches on his scalp, a cast for his broken wrist, and had spent the night in the hospital for a concussion.

Though his parents had been angry, and had disciplined him for his dangerous behavior, there's another memory that comes to mind, something that, over the years, Danny'd never really given much thought to until now. Something that he's almost forgotten. The memory of his father holding him and rocking him in the rocking chair at the hospital when he'd been afraid and inconsolable. It makes Danny's gut twist now.

"You have always been a brave, if foolhardy, young man," his father says, "but no one is perfect, son, and you've got to ask yourself, is this, what you have with Steve, is strong enough to withstand the weight of what you are running from?" His father's voice is soft and the pressure of his palm on Danny's chest is more like a promise of strength and protection than one of judgement.

Danny doesn't even have to think about it to know the answer. Steve's thumb stills, and his fingers twitch in Danny's hand, and Danny catches them before they can withdraw from his.

They're strong, capable fingers, but Danny knows his father isn't speaking about physical strength. Steve has that, in spades, could probably carry Danny's ass through a jungle and back if he needed to.

But that's not what his father is asking. He's not asking about Steve's strength alone. Danny knows that Steve is strong. He has no doubts about Steve. Never did, not even when he left.

No, Danny had doubted the strength of what he and Steve had built _together._ Hadn't known whether or not it was strong enough to see them through the tough times, and _that's_ why he'd run away.

What he'd built with Rachel, like his failed 'licopter, had crashed and left him broken, bleeding and in need of a triage of sorts. He hadn't wanted that to happen with Steve, so he'd run before it could. He'd run before Steve could leave him like Rachel had, when the going got tough.

Danny looks at Steve and there's a naked vulnerability in the man's eyes that Danny hasn't seen before. It's humbling, and Danny knows, knows what he should have known all along, but had been too blinded by the failures of his past to see.

"Yeah, Pop," Danny's is hoarse, "it is. It's strong enough."

"Good," his father says, nodding, "no more running, son."

Danny nods. No more running. No matter how hard and bad things get. No matter what crops up. No matter what threatens him or Steve, he's not going to run again.

"No more running." Danny has to say the words aloud. Has to hear them, has to say them to Steve, because he has to make sure that Steve understands.

"I'm sorry," he adds, looking at his father's hand, so firm and strong on his chest, and then to Steve's face.

"I'm sorry I didn't go after you, Danny." Steve's voice is filled with remorse and Danny lifts his eyes to meet Steve's.

Danny shakes his head. "Steve, I -"

"Danno, I'm trying to apologize here," Steve says. "I was every bit as stubborn as you were, maybe more so. I knew you were hurting, and I...I was angry, angry that I couldn't help, that I couldn't fix what was wrong, that I couldn't turn back time and keep it from happening in the first place."

Steve closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they're bright and sharp and filled with something that could be mistaken for anger, but isn't. It makes Danny's heart swell.

"Let's put the past behind us," Steve says. "Let's build a future together. That is, if I have your blessing, Mr. and Mrs. Williams." Steve turns to look at Danny's father, and then his mother.

Danny's father claps Steve on the back and nods, his mother makes a strangled sound that's half sob, half laugh, and she hugs Steve, who is a little less stiff this time around.

"Have you set a date for the wedding?" his mother asks as soon as she pulls back from Steve. Judging by the look on her face, she's already planning the logistics of the wedding. "Will you be getting married here, or in Hawaii? Will it be a church wedding, or will you be getting married at the City Hall?"

Steve's eyes take on that wild, trapped look, and Danny laughs.

"Uh, we hadn't really gotten that far yet," Steve stutters, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

"That's okay, sweetie, I can help you and Danny plan your wedding if you'd like" Danny's mother declares happily. "Ooh, how about getting married on the beach? It'll be beautiful..."

"Clara, let the kids plan their own wedding," his father says, a little irritably. "Danny's going to be in the hospital for a little while longer. They don't need to rush into things."

"They could have a wedding ceremony right here," Danny's mother says, ignoring his father completely and turning around to take in the room, hands moving this way and that, sizing the room up. "I'm sure that we could find a pastor or maybe even a priest willing to perform the ceremony right here."

"Ma," Karen intervenes before Danny has to.

Steve looks like he's about to pass out, he's leaning heavily against the bed rail, practically hyperventilating, and Danny gives his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"I'm sure that Danny and Steve don't want to get married in the hospital," Karen says, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Of course, you're right," his mother says, and she frowns thoughtfully, already reconfiguring things. "You know," she says, biting her bottom lip, her voice growing more excited as she speaks, "you and Steve could get married in your childhood home."

"Ma!" Karen tugs on her mom's arm and forces her to turn around and look at Steve. "I think you're scaring Danny's fiance."

Danny would laugh at the look of shock and fear on Steve's face, except he's kind of a little scared himself. He wants to marry Steve, more than anything, but he doesn't want a shotgun wedding or any of the scenarios that his mother's tossing their way. He wants something quiet and simple; just Ohana.

"I'm so sorry," Danny's mother says, placing a hand on Steve's arm and shaking her head. "Of course you two want to plan your own wedding, and here I am, going on and on. It's just...I'm so excited."

His father snorts, and Danny has to bite his tongue not to laugh. He's feeling happier than he has in what feels like forever, and more in love with the man standing in front of him, enduring his family in a way that Rachel never really had, with good humor in spite of how uncomfortable, at least to Danny's trained eye, he is.

"I think we'd better let our boy get some rest, Clara," Danny's father says. "We can come back later, can't we son?"

Danny nods. He's happy, but tired, and there's a dull, but painful ache in his chest that reminds him of what he's been through. What very real and painful consequences his running away had wrought.

There's a welcome knock at the door - Danny recognizes it as that of the staff, a pattern of staccato raps that Kono had insisted upon when Danny had been in very real danger.

Before anyone can answer the door, it's opened, and the doctor who'd saved Danny's life those few weeks ago steps in. Steve gives the doctor a grateful look when he declares that it's time for Danny to get some rest, that he'll answer all of Danny's family's questions just as soon as he's taken care of his patient, and if it's okay with Danny.

When his family's cleared out, followed shortly after by the doctor, and it's just him and Steve once again, Danny allows his eyes to close.

It had been great to see his family, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed them until he'd seen them, but he's suddenly exhausted, whether it's the drugs kicking in, or the visit from his family, or from finally dealing with some of the emotions that he's been bottling up since before he'd run away, or a combination of all of that doesn't matter.

"Thank you," Danny breathes the words out, fingers finding and latching onto Steve's hand. He threads his fingers through Steve's, pulls their entwined hands up to his lips, and he kisses Steve's knuckles. He smiles when he senses Steve relaxing.

"I have a feeling that there's more to that story that you didn't even let your sister finish broaching, Danno," Steve says, sounding a little affronted, and effectively changing the direction of their conversation to something that's a lot less emotionally laden.

Danny opens a single eye to glare at him.

"Don't ask about it," Danny says with finality. "Ever."

Steve grins at him, drapes an arm over the railing and rests his head on it. "So, 'licopters, Danno? How come you never told me that you like to fly?"

Danny gives Steve the middle finger, though it's a challenge with the oxygen saturation probe that the doctor had attached to his index finger during his most recent visit. It makes it damn awkward, but Danny gives it his best effort and is rewarded with a scoff from Steve.

"Real mature, Danno," Steve chastises. "What would your mother say?"

"My mother's not here, Steven," Danny says and he closes the eye that he'd opened. "You're not going to actually tell her that I gave you the middle finger, are you? We're not in seventh grade."

" _I'm_ not the one who used the middle finger," Steve retorts.

Danny snorts. "Fine, you tell her that I gave you the middle finger, I'll tell her about the grenades that you keep in the glove compartment. Where Grace can find them."

Steve makes a strangled sort of sound. "That was only the one time, Danno."

"And, about the time that -"

"Fine," Steve says before Danny can finish his sentence, "I won't say anything to your mother about your uncouth gestures, if you don't mention anything about -"

"Uncouth? Uncouth, Steven?" Danny opens an eye and rolls it. Steve sticks his tongue out at him.

"I can use big words, too, Danno," Steve says with a distinct pout that Danny can hear. "You and your family don't have a patent on them," Steve says.

"What makes you so sure that we don't?" Danny asks, yawning.

"Your sister was right, you know," Steve says after a moment.

"What about?" Danny's curious, though he's slowly losing the battle to stay awake and his mind's starting to get a little fuzzy.

"You really are a stubborn, immature jackass," Steve says, laughing when Danny makes another lewd gesture.

"Maybe so, but you love me anyway," Danny says, feeling a little punch drunk.

"Yeah, I do." Steve's voice is husky, a sign that he's feeling a little more emotional than he wants to let on. He traces the line of Danny's jaw, making Danny's skin tingle.

"That feels good," Danny murmurs, lone eye closing, lips curling upward in a satisfied smile. He pulls Steve's hand close to his mending heart, and falls asleep, dreaming of a future with Steve.


	24. Tying up Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Chin and Kono tie up some loose ends. Steve's feeling out of sorts. Cuddling ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this at the end of July, but then school started up and all of my creative energies went into lesson planning and attempting to learn students' names (so far, I've failed in that endeavor, though I am familiarizing myself with their superhero names). Long story short, I wasn't able to really write anything (other than poetry) for the past month. I am happy to say that, when I sat down at my computer yesterday, and today, I was able to work on this (for what it's worth...not sure if I've lost all readers in the interim). 
> 
> This is imperfect, and I'm okay with that.
> 
> Not sure why this inspired the writing of this initially, but it did: "My wife, my family, my friends - they've all taught me things about love and what that emotion really means. In a nutshell, loving someone is about giving, not receiving." - Nicholas Sparks

"My wife, my family, my friends -- they've all taught me things about love and what that emotion really means. In a nutshell, loving someone is about giving, not receiving." - Nicholas Sparks

Steve's still trying to wrap his head around all that has happened in the past twenty-four hours. From meeting Danny's family, to saving the mayor from a would-be assassin, to killing Capo, it's almost literally been a whirlwind. 

Danny's sleeping. Steve can't help thinking that it's better that way. Better for him not to know how close Capo had gotten to him -- again. How close the man had come to winning.

The doctor had managed to escape police custody while being transported to the courthouse, and had gone straight to the hospital, only to be stopped by Steve.

Steve's hand had been forced when Capo took one of the doctors hostage, holding a scalpel to the man's throat. Steve hadn't thought twice. His aim had been true. Capo's mouth had opened in a surprised 'O' that would forever be frozen in place. 

Eyes wide. 

Neat round hole in the middle of his forehead, large exit wound at the base of his skull which had coated the hallway with brain matter, hair and bone, not to mention, copious amounts of blood. 

Steve feels no regret, knows that he will have no nightmares reliving that moment, and the moments that quickly followed. No, his nightmares will include images of what might’ve happened. What could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. If Capo had managed to make it to Danny.

Steve can still smell the blood, though he's showered, changed his clothes, tossed the bloodied ones away. It's cloying and thick and so damn red, and it shouldn't bother him, because the man's dead and he can't reach Danny now. Can never threaten any of them again. 

Steve rubs Danny's knuckles with his thumb and tries not to picture the worst case scenario, because he's killed Capo, and it's not going to come to fruition. 

Capo is not going to take Danny from him. 

He's not going to fuck with Danny's head. 

Not going to lock Danny away as he'd boldly threatened to do when he'd been cornered by Steve in the corridor outside of Danny's room. Capo's not going to do anything to anyone ever again. 

He's dead, Steve killed him, and in spite of everything, it had been oddly difficult for him to wash the blood off of his hands. 

Chin and Kono were working with the FBI, unveiling even more of the madman's plan, and keeping the mayor safe, in spite of his culpability. 

About the only good thing to come of all of this is the knowledge that Capo's influence had stopped there. He'd had yet to spread his manipulation further than the mayor, though he'd planned to go much, much further than that, according to notes the FBI had uncovered -- with Chin's help -- in his personal computer.

For all intents and purposes, it’s over, or almost over. There are only a few loose ends to tie up -- the man Steve had put in the hospital, Zanetti, and his goon. Neither of them are talking about what happened in the alley, Steve’s promises of a more permanent solution to keep them silent had worked remarkably well. 

The only thing left for them to ‘tie up’ on the mainland that Steve cares about is Danny. Steve closes his eyes for a moment, lets his hand rest briefly on the top of Danny’s, before ghosting his fingers across the man’s unshaven cheek.

Danny’s cheeks are hollow, his eyes sunken, his skin sallow. There’s not much Steve can do for him now, other than wait, be there for him. Things he’d been willing to do before all of this shit had come into play. Before Danny had quit on him and left. 

Steve sighs, resumes what he’s come to think of as his seat beside Danny’s hospital bed, and grips Danny’s hand. He presses his fingers to the underside of Danny’s wrist. The steady throb that beats against the tips of his fingers soothes him, reminds him that, after everything Danny’s been through, his heart is still beating. 

And because Danny’s heart is still beating, his own can stop aching so fiercely. Before all of this, Steve had not realized how much missing someone could be like a physical pain. How much like a gaping chest wound it could be, as though his own heart had been ripped out of his chest. 

He knows now. Knows that he can’t go through anything like this ever again, and still hold onto his sanity. Chin and Kono would probably argue that he hadn’t really held onto anything that even slightly resembled sanity while Danny had been gone. 

“No sense in dwelling on the past,” Steve mutters, rubbing his thumb across the back of Danny’s wrist. “Not going to find anything new there.” 

He leans forward, rests his forehead against the edge of Danny’s bed. He’s so weary, he could probably fall asleep right there in spite of what hell it would put his neck and back through. Now that he’s dealt with the danger, Steve doesn’t want to leave Danny’s side, wants to bury his face into Danny’s neck and simply breathe. 

He hasn’t taken a real breath since Danny’d left him. His lungs had filled with air, labored to keep him alive, but they’d been working solely on instinct. It had been nothing more than survival. He no longer wants to merely survive. He wants to live. 

The change in Danny’s pulse, the altered thump against the tips of his fingers, is what alerts Steve that he’s awake well before the slight movement -- Danny’s hand twisting within the hold that he’s got on it -- does. 

He smiles, though there’s little to smile about when he thinks about the past few hours. What he’s done, what he’s got to do. 

But Danny’s waking, and all of that can wait for now. For now, everything short of this -- the feel of Danny’s pulse quickening, the sound of the sheets rustling as Danny comes to awareness, the warmth that settles in Steve’s gut at being here when Danny wakes -- doesn’t exist. 

“Steve?” Danny’s voice is thin, scratchy, and Steve, without releasing his hold on Danny’s hand, plies a straw to Danny’s lips, silently encourages him to drink. 

Seeing the way that Danny’s brow smoothes out, the relief that such a simple act has brought him, eases some of the knots  in Steve’s stomach that have been a near constant presence since Danny’d left. 

Helps him breathe a little easier, and he offers Danny a smile. Knows that, in other circumstances, Danny wouldn’t be fooled by this display of false cheer. 

“I’m here, Danny,” Steve says, though it’s unnecessary. 

Danny’s brow furrows, and he licks his lips. Steve urges him to drink more water, though he knows that Danny’s not frowning because he’s thirsty. 

“What’s wrong?” Danny’s voice is quiet, and all the more demanding for it. 

Steve shakes his head. He doesn’t want to do this now. Maybe not ever. He wants to put the past several months behind them, starting with the events that had taken place a few short hours ago, outside of this very hospital room. 

He’s tired, and, though his heart no longer aches like it had for so long, he just wants everything to go back to normal. Doesn’t want to acknowledge that there’s been a shift in their relationship, that he killed a man for Danny, and would’ve happily killed several more for what had transpired while Danny’d cut himself out of Steve’s life. 

“Steve,” Danny’s voice, though soft, is commanding. “Babe, what happened? Did my mom scare you off?” There’s a note of teasing to Danny’s voice, but it’s soured by a distinct undercurrent of concern. 

Steve’s heart falters for a second. The knots that still remain in his stomach tighten. He shakes his head, maintains the smile that makes his face feel frozen.

Danny frowns, struggles to sit up, and Steve gently pushes him back with a quiet curse. He presses the button that will adjust the bed, allow Danny to sit up a little without pulling on his injuries. 

“I’m fine,” Steve says, the words coming out a little more harshly than he’d intended for them to. 

Danny raises an eyebrow, looks pointedly at their entwined hands. The fact that he’s not quite up to giving Steve a verbal lashing isn’t lost on Steve. Where Danny’s words fail him, though, his facial expressions make up for tenfold. That, and his gestures, which are currently subdued in deference to his injuries. 

“Capo’s dead,” Steve confesses, lowering his eyes to the hand that he holds. The steady thrum of Danny’s heartbeat grounds him, makes it easier for him to talk. 

“Good,” Danny chuffs the word out, and when Steve raises his eyes to look at his partner -- the man that he’s loved for what feels like ages now -- he sees that Danny’s mouth is twisted in a grim facsimile of a smile. Danny nods, and repeats, “Good.”

“The mayor’s safe. He’s willingly committing himself to a psychiatric hospital, to be evaluated, get real help for the depression Capo had been treating him for. He hadn’t realized that Capo no longer needed him to get what he wanted,” Steve adds. It’s all really farfetched as far as he’s concerned, but the man had gone willingly, at least according to Chin’s report. 

Danny nods and takes as deep a breath as he can, his mouth twisting at the slight twinge of pain that this elicits. Steve aches to take away Danny’s pain, and wonders if this is what it is like to love someone beyond the typical, everyday commitments that people make. If this is what he’s got to look forward to for the remainder of his life -- aching every time that Danny hurts, wishing his lover’s pain on himself. 

“Steve.” Danny’s voice is tight, concerned, holding much more than it should when speaking a single word. His fingers tighten on Steve’s wrist, and Steve wonders if Danny’s gauging the veracity of his words through the nuances of Steve’s pulse. It’s something that Steve was taught to do when he’d been trained as a SEAL, using pulse to determine truth. 

“Capo escaped custody,” Steve admits, not looking at Danny’s face. “Headed here to finish what he’d started with you.” Steve looks up then. Danny’s jaw is clenched, his eyes hard. 

“You stopped him,” Danny says, fingers digging into Steve’s wrist. 

Steve nods. “Yeah, he took a doctor hostage.”

Guilt crosses Danny’s features, and Steve feels like kicking himself. The guilt isn’t Danny’s to entertain, it’s his. He’d nearly lost Danny this afternoon, had only done what he should’ve done in the first place -- drilled a bullet in Capo’s skull. 

“The doctor’s fine,” Steve is quick to assure Danny, knowing that, though the guilt is misplaced, it isn’t something that Danny will easily rid himself of. “Capo didn’t hurt him.”

Danny closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Steve can see relief and gratefulness reflected in the tear-limned eyes. He gives Steve a crooked smile and squeezes Steve’s wrist. 

“I killed him,” Steve says, his voice suddenly rough, throat clogged. 

Danny’s pulse is steady beneath his fingertips, but he can feel his own skyrocketing. It’s ridiculous. Danny’s safe now. 

The world’s better off without Capo in it. 

There’s no reason for him to feel anything but a deep sense of self-satisfaction and pride, because he’d managed to kill Capo with a single shot, right through the middle of the man’s skull. It had been a thing of beauty. Something that, if he was still running in certain circles, would be talked about for years to come. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” Danny says, drawing Steve out of himself, reminding him that he’d done the right thing. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “He was crazy, thought he could take you out of the hospital, make you into some kind of...”

“Monster?” Danny supplies when Steve trails off, unable to find suitable words for what Capo had been planning to do, what the man had nearly succeeded in doing. Danny laughs. It’s a dry, wheezing kind of sound that makes Steve wince in sympathy, because it sounds painful.

“Capo was no Frankenstein,” Danny says, a little breathless. “Man was a fucking lunatic. You did the right thing,” Danny says, voice filled with conviction. “You did the only thing you could’ve. Capo was crazy.”

Steve’s answering smile is real this time. “From what I remember, Frankenstein wasn’t operating with a full deck of cards either.”

Danny lets the hand that’s not currently ensconced in Steve’s rise and then flop to rest on his stomach. He shrugs, takes as deep a breath as he can, and lets it out on a sigh. 

“I think it’s safe to say that both doctors had a god-complex,” Danny says. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I’ve gotta say, I’m glad that Capo didn’t succeed in his plan. Green’s not your color.”

Danny absentmindedly traces the stitches on his chest through the fabric of the hospital gown that he’s wearing -- no tee-shirts for him yet -- and Steve bites the inside of his cheek, his stomach twisting itself a new knot. The knot loosens before it can fully form when Danny chuckles and points a finger at Steve. 

“I’ll have you know that I look damn good in green,” he says, voice a little stronger than it was earlier. 

“Whatever you say, Danny,” Steve says, relaxing a little, allowing his lips to twist upward in a smile. 

“I’m downright smashing in green,” Danny says, pouting a little, sinking further into his pillows. Steve has a disturbingly domestic urge to fluff Danny’s pillows and quickly tamps down on it. 

“That so?” Steve asks, rising to the bait, grateful for the change in the course of their discussion. 

Danny nods, chin jutting mulishly. Steve pictures Danny in green -- dressed as an elf, because it’s the first thing that pops into his head. He laughs, and bites his lip, because Danny the elf is glaring at him in a very non-elf sort of fashion, and he’s making a gesture that Steve knows would be strictly forbidden at the North Pole. 

He shakes his mind to clear it of the image that his mind’s conjured up. The real Danny is glaring at him, though his lips are twitching. 

“I’m dashing and dapper and look very handsome in green,” Danny continues, chin held high, eyes twinkling. “As a matter of fact, I think I’m going to wear green at our wedding.”

Steve leans back, shakes his head. “I’ve got nothing against green, Danno, but don’t you think we should wear something a little more traditional?”

Danny purses his lips, gives Steve a thoughtful look. “I’d look good in white,” he says after a pause, and Steve catches the truth, and the desire, in the way that Danny’s pulse stutters and jumps beneath his fingertips. 

“And we both know how gorgeous I am in a black suit,” Steve says. He can see Danny dressed in a white suit with tails at the back. 

Danny shakes his head. “Navy blues,” he says, voice husky. “I like a man in uniform.”

Danny’s pulse jumps considerably and is in complete harmony with Steve’s own rapidly increasing heartbeat. He’s hard, and fuck, fuck, fuck. Now’s not the time for this kind of thing. Danny’s not in any position to do anything, hell, he’s not ready for anything right now either, though his body is trying to tell him otherwise. 

He breathes in and out through his nose, trying to focus on something other than the way that Danny’s pulse feels like a river running beneath his fingertips. Warmth spreads through him, thawing the coolness that had settled in his gut when Danny’d left him. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way. So long since he’s felt like himself. So long since he’s been whole. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, biting his lip and letting out a shuddering breath. 

Danny’s breath hitches in his chest, and they both catch each other’s eyes and laugh, and though it’s strained, it’s a welcome sound. A sound that helps ease some of the tension building in both of them.

“Get over here and kiss me.” Danny’s words come out so softly that, for a full second and a half, Steve isn’t sure that he hasn’t made them up. But, Danny’s lips, a healthy pink, are parted, and he’s giving Steve a look that mirrors his own need, a look that begs Steve to kiss him.

“You, ah, you sure about this, Danny?” Steve asks, faltering for a split second. 

Danny rolls his eyes and pats the bed beside him, scoots over a little, and winces when his body reacts to the careful movements. No, Danny’s not ready for more than a kiss, or two. Nothing too strenuous. 

Steve releases his hold on Danny’s hand, frowning slightly. Though he’ll soon be closer to Danny than he’s been for too many months to count, Steve misses the feel of Danny’s pulse, the telltale beat of his heart, throbbing beneath the tips of his fingers. 

There are logistics to consider as he eyes the bed, and the various pieces of equipment attached to his lover, but Steve quickly comes up with a game plan that will not only ensure that Danny’s comfortable and safe, but that he isn’t in danger of falling on his ass in the process. He wonders, briefly, what the doctors and nurses will say, if they’ll try to make him leave, but decides that he doesn’t really care, because now that Capo’s dead and Kono and Chin are working with the FBI to wrap things up, Steve just wants to be near Danny. To reassure himself that Danny’s safe, and that he isn’t going anywhere.

“Not  everything  has to be approached as though it’s a dangerous mission,” Danny chides, lips pursed. “I’m not going to break, Steve.”

“It’s not  your ass I’m worried’s gonna fall out of the bed,” Steve says as he lowers the metal railing and  hoists himself up beside Danny. He positions himself so that he’s between Danny and the rest of the room, and he carefully pulls Danny flush against him. The rest of the tight knots in his stomach finally begin to work themselves loose as he buries his face in Danny’s neck and kisses the man’s collarbone.

Danny murmurs words of comfort that Steve doesn’t fully register, because he’s too busy rediscovering the man he’d lost, figuring out what, and who, Danny is to him now. 

Lover. 

Friend. 

Life.

Something more than all of that. 

Steve’s lost, mapping what he can of Danny with his lips and fingers, tonguing deep grooves, skirting the fine edge of danger, because he has to taste, has to reclaim what had been taken from him. Kissing and touching his lover in ways he’d never done before, Steve pleads, wordlessly, for forgiveness and for a future, offers forgiveness of his own, and promises Danny everything.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Danny reassures him, and Steve’s too lost in the contours, and nuances of his lover’s body to understand why Danny’s comforting him, that there are tears falling. 

“I love you, Danno,” Steve whispers, kissing Danny’s lips, tasting the salt of their combined tears and relishing the warmth that had been missing from those lips for so long. “And, I’d kill a whole army of Capos to keep you safe.”

“I know,” Danny murmurs, lips moving beneath Steve’s. “Thank you.”

For now, there’s nothing more to say. Further conversation, and confessions will have to wait. Steve reluctantly relinquishes Danny’s lips, sensing the almost overwhelming exhaustion before it overtakes the other man. He settles beside Danny, careful of his chest, of the IV’s and the leads and everything else that would contrive to make this difficult. 

He reaches for Danny’s hand, places the tips of his fingers on the pulsepoint and closes his eyes. Letting the steady rhythm of Danny’s heartbeat lull him into the first peaceful sleep he’s had since before the box, the last of the knots in his stomach ease away into nothing. 

 


	25. Promise in Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue (of sorts). Danny counts his blessings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written (mostly) to Neisan Nine's, "You Complete Me" (beautiful song; I think it'd be great as a wedding song).
> 
> Feedback would be greatly appreciated. (Purposeful use of repetition, run-on, and fragment sentences, as well as present tense)
> 
> The next part of Ho oku i will be continued under a different title.

Danny takes as deep a breath as he dares, relishing the way that his lungs fill all the way, that there's no painful tug to accompany the action. He closes his eyes and smiles as the warmth of the air surrounds him, like a blanket.

It's good to be back. Good to be home. Good to see Steve smiling again, unreserved, the light of it reaching his eyes.

It's been awhile, for all of them.

There was a time, when Danny'd been so lost that he thought he'd never have any of this again, that he'd fucked up, gone too far, and that that was it, he was never going to get his second chance with Steve.

Second chances were for those who deserved them. Not for those who gave up at the first sign of trouble, like Danny had.

But, Steve had given him a second chance. So had Chin and Kono, and his daughter, Grace. Even Rachel had given him another chance, and he'd been certain that he'd run out of chances with her, having gone through his second and third before they'd even divorced. He'd feared that she was going to keep Grace, his monkey, from him because he'd left, hadn't called, had all but broken his little girl's heart in a failed attempt to protect her from what he'd become. Someone who didn't deserve such a beautiful child.

He's grateful that his family didn't see things the way that he did, that they, even if he hadn't quite gotten there himself, had forgiven him for what he'd done. They'd understood what he refused to accept yet - that he'd been messed up and hurting, that he'd been taken advantage of (and that was almost the hardest thing to work through - what Dr. Capo had done to him, and the others who'd fallen under his spell) - it would take time, and Steve coming back for him had given him that time. It's a gift, and he's not going to give it up, not going to take it for granted.

Danny sighs, leans against the post on the lanai and watches Steve and Grace playing at the water's edge. They're silhouetted by orange light being cast by the setting sun, and Danny wishes he had his camera, but he knows that by the time he digs it out and returns, the moment will be gone, so he imprints the image on his heart and in his mind. Their laughter carries back to him, and his heart fills with something indefinable. It's something more than love, something that he's never experienced before he met Steve.

He's blessed, and he knows it. Blessed that he's still got Steve and Grace in his life. Blessed that, though he'd screwed things up, royally, he's still living and breathing. He still has Steve, still has this.

He's got a long ways to go yet, before he's fully recovered and ready to go back to work, ready to put the past several months behind him, ready to put his experience in the box where it belongs - firmly in the past. He knows that he won't forget it, and that's okay; it'll keep him humble, grounded, remind him that he's human, easily broken. Remind him of what it is that makes him whole - Steve and Grace, the family that they've forged together.

"Danno? You coming or what?" Steve calls, and Grace echoes him, her voice robust and challenging. She giggles when Steve picks her up and puts her on his shoulders. She's right on the cusp of being too old for such things, and Danny wants to hold that off for as long as he can. Wants to keep his baby girl innocent and carefree, and young.

Danny pushes off the post and makes his way over to the two people who mean the world to him, marveling that he's alive, and that he's here, with them, now. The sand feels good on his feet, beginning to cool as the evening shadows lengthen. He realizes that he even missed this - the beach, sand, palm trees set in a background of immutable blue, the sound of the ocean roaring in his ears, like the incessant buzz of bees.

It's been a long time since he's been happy, so long that Danny almost doesn't recognize it for what it is. It comes back to him, though, in slow increments, solidifying when he finally reaches Steve and Grace at the edge of the shore, the ocean licking at his feet, Steve wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close for a kiss; Grace's giggles wash over him, her toes dig into his shoulder, and he's never felt so happy, so alive, so loved.

This is what he missed most, he decides, and he relaxes, joins in the laughter, lets some of the pain, and stress of the past few days - leaving the hospital, saying goodbye to his family, returning home - melt away as the promise of a future he'd feared he'd never have forms a picture in his mind. It doesn't disappear when the sun merges with the ocean, belting out a final golden ray that paints the ocean with an ethereal beauty. If anything, the dream - the promise of a future with Steve- is echoed by that final glimpse of the sun, the shared laughter, the gentle rumble of the ocean as it laps at his feet.


	26. Throwback Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes home, expecting to be greeted by Danny and Grace, instead, he's greeted by silence, and his mind goes back to the time when Danny left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess that the muse wasn't quite as finished as I thought she was.
> 
> I was going for a lighthearted fluff, cotton candy, bingo square - pillow/blanket fort; and then angst, fluff, and cheesiness happened. And somehow, perhaps appropriately, throwback Thursday decided to make an appearance. How? Why? I really don't know, but I am publishing this on Thursday (in Hawaii). 
> 
> Did I make a mistake?

It's unnaturally quiet when Steve enters his home, and immediately his mind goes to _that_ place, _the box,_ and Danny disappearing. His heart jumps to his throat, and he closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and concentrates on breathing.

Danny's back in Hawaii now. He's home, for good; he promised that he wouldn't be leaving again.

Still, there's a tiny seed of doubt, a little voice at the back of his mind that reminds Steve of everyone who's left him over the years. Promises that had been broken. Lies that had left him lonely and his heart aching in ways that he'd rather not admit.

It had started with his mother, and Steve wishes that the steel box he'd tried to erect around his heart then had stayed firmly in place.

It hadn't.

Maybe it had never really been in place to begin with.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and tries not to let his imagination run away with him. Tries not to picture Danny as he'd been in that hospital bed on the mainland - so pale and broken - having died and been brought back to life by modern medicine, and a doctor who hadn't known the meaning of the word quit.

Tries not to see the faded words of Danny's, _Dear John_ letter to him. Tries not to recall how much Danny's words had hurt him, how broken he'd been when Danny had left.

He's tired, and his left shoulder aches from an old injury he received on a mission that's so classified that he's not even allowed to think about it. He was looking forward to returning home to Danno and Grace, forgetting about the mission he can't think about, and the case that had run the whole team ragged for the past week.

Danny had left work earlier that afternoon to pick up Grace. She was theirs for the next two weeks, and Steve had been looking forward to it. It had been a long time since he'd had Grace in his home.

Steve wants things to go back to normal, back to the way they were before Danny was taken, before Steve started doubting his partner, and what his own eyes were telling him - Danny's car was in the driveway, therefore he hadn't left him, no matter that he didn't hear Danny and Grace in the house.

He knows that he can't turn back time, though. He doesn't know that it would be the right thing to do if he _was_ given the opportunity to unravel time and go back, stop events from unfolding as they had.

The scent of fresh chocolate chip cookies jars Steve from his thoughts, and he frowns, his heart skipping to a hopeful beat. The silence is no longer as oppressive as it had been when he'd first entered the house. Fresh chocolate chip cookies mean Grace, which means that Danny hasn't up and left him out of the blue, taking a taxi instead of his car.

Steve doubts that he'll stop worrying about that anytime soon.

Opening his eyes, he heads toward the kitchen and quells his desire to grumble about the fact that the counters are covered with flour and something tacky that he'd really rather pretend he hadn't seen. No doubt it's some kind of eggy mixture.

There's a bowl sitting precariously on the edge of the sink, some of the dough is caked to the lip of it. The inside of the bowl is mostly clean, but there's still a film of dough drying in the bowl.

_It'll need to soak,_ Steve thinks, but he resists the urge to tidy the kitchen as his heart swells at the mental picture he gets of Danny and Grace baking cookies together. He can't stop what he knows would be classified by Danny as a goofy grin.

"Danny? Grace?" he calls, poking his head out of the kitchen and into the living room, no longer afraid to move forward for the silence in the house.

The living room is a mess. Blankets and pillows are strewn all over the place, creating what looks like a very lopsided cave, or maybe a fort. It doesn't appear to have any architectural soundness to it.

Steve remembers making blanket forts with his little sister, back when his mother had been around. He smiles at the memory as he carefully makes his way through what appears to be the entire contents of the linen closet hanging from every surface, anchored in place with a pillow, or a leg of furniture.

It's like wading through a minefield, and Steve fears that one wrong misstep will cause the entire fortress - because that's what it is, a whole fortress of blankets and pillows in his living room - to topple, and he doesn't want to answer to Grace, or for that matter, Danny, for that. No, he likes his head right where it is, thank you very much.

There was a time when a scene like this would have set his teeth on edge, and Steve can't pretend that the sight in the kitchen and living room isn't making him just a little anxious - he likes things orderly, and all of this is screaming, _MESS, clean me up!_ at him. But he's missed this, didn't realized he missed Danny's messes from the small ones to the gigantic, living room sized ones.

He takes a deep breath, makes it through the craziness that is now his living room, and wonders at the quiet.

A quick look outside, and Steve's convinced that Danny and Grace were riding on the back of a whirlwind when they got home that day. There's a pile of sand on his lanai, an abandoned shovel and pail, a collection of seashells and sea glass. But there's no sign of either love of his life, and his gut clenches at the realization that he loves Grace like he thinks maybe a father, or a stepfather, would. It's a very sobering thought, and he wonders if he'll go from _Uncle Steve_ to _Step-Steve._

"Danny! Grace!" Steve hears his own voice echoed back at him, the crash of the ocean against the shore.

Frowning, Steve takes a deep breath, shoves his earlier, anxious thoughts away, because the mess speaks to Danny's presence, not his absence. Thoughtful, he walks back into the living room. He holds his breath, closes his eyes, and forces himself to focus for a minute on his breathing.

_Danny and Grace are probably walking along the shore, and they'll be back any minute,_ he thinks. It's a rational explanation. Reasonable even.

Just as he's about to open his eyes, he hears it, a quiet gasp of sound, and he holds his breath for fear that his mind is playing tricks on him. He opens his eyes, narrowing them at the large expanse of roofing comprised of mismatched sheets, seeking out shapes that might be hidden beneath them when he hears another garbled sound coming from within the fortress.

Chuckling quietly to himself, because he's finally classified the odd sounds as Danny's snoring, Steve searches for an opening in the fortress, because there has to be one. The two occupants of the fortress had to get in there somehow.

He's stifling a yawn of his own by the time he finds the hidden opening, and he has to laugh, because he can almost hear the conversation that he knows Danny and Grace had when they'd constructed the monster fortress that's eaten his living room. He wishes he could've been there, ignores the pang in his heart that the thought evokes. He'll be there next time.

Getting onto his hands and knees (ignoring the popping and cracking of his joints) Steve crawls toward the opening, and ducks his head beneath the flap. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the blanket fort, and he casts about for the familiar form of his partner, spying Grace a split second before he sees her father.

Steve works his cellphone free of its clip on his belt, thankful that he hadn't discarded it at its usual place by the door. His routine's been more than just a little disturbed since he and Danny have returned from the mainland, and though it's thrown him off-balance, Steve knows that it's a good thing. He'd missed the change in his routine when Danny'd been gone.

He makes sure that the flash is off, hoping that his phone will still be able to capture the image of Grace, half-sprawled over her father, face cushioned by Danny's chest. Danny's arm is draped over Grace's shoulders; mouth open, he's quietly snoring.

Steve creeps closer until he's close enough to get a picture of the two. He snaps off several photos, goofy grin fixed firmly in place, and then puts his phone away.

When he looks up, he finds two blue eyes narrowed at him.

"Sorry, Danno, didn't mean to wake you," Steve whispers. "I couldn't find you and Grace, and I panicked."

"No, sorry." Danny scrubs a hand over his face, and he waves his free hand in the air between them, wriggles his fingers. "Don't worry, Grace and I will clean up the mess, we -"

"Don't worry about it," Steve brushes off his apology with a shrug. "It's kind of nice."

"Kind of nice?" Danny raises an eyebrow and purses his lips and looks at Steve as though he's assessing him for a concussion.

"Yeah." Steve looks away, not certain of how to say what's on his heart. "Reminded me of what it was like when Mom and Mary were around, and we were a family. Made me think of all that we've been through, and, Danny...I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you and Grace. I don't want to lose us." The words come out in a rush before Steve can stop them, and he looks at Danny, can feel tears gathering in his eyes, and it makes him feel foolish. He hadn't meant to give voice to any of that, and, normally, he doesn't cry.

Danny's looking at him with tears in his own eyes, but he's like that. Able to express himself better, and braver than Steve can, because Danny's never been afraid to cry.

"Steve, I'm sorry," Danny says, voice gruff. "I don't know what I have to say or do to convince you that I'm here to stay, for good. I screwed up, I know that, and I can't undo what I've done. I love you, and I want to marry you, and don't I sound like an overly emotional teenage girl?"

Steve grins, and wipes away a tear that's slipped free. "Danno,I love you. I love Grace. But I can't go through that again. I can't stand the silence, or the emptiness of this place. I like coming home to the TV blaring, dishes in the sink, you and Grace tracking sand into the house." He's babbling, and he doesn't babble, but he needs to make Danny understand, even if he's not sure _he_ understands what it is that he's trying to say.

"C'mere," Danny says, gesturing with his free arm.

Somehow, thankfully, Grace has slept through all of this.

Steve crawls over to Danny, lets his partner, his lover, pull him down beside him, and whisper reassurances in his ear. "I love you Steve, and I'm sorry for what I did to you and Grace. I -"

"You're in a cave, Danno," Steve interrupts, voice incredulous, heart pounding as realization of the breakthrough hits him, and he can't help stating the obvious, because Danny still wakes from nightmares of being trapped inside that box from time to time.

Danny flushes, and his eyes dart toward his daughter, and Steve gets it. Understands that Danny is able to push his fears aside for the sake of his daughter.

"I'm proud of you," he says, voice thick. Refuses to let Danny shrug it off, because it _is_ a big deal, being buried beneath mounds of pillows and blankets. Kisses Danny before the man can protest.

"Steve, I promise, I won't leave you again," Danny says. "I was a fool."

Steve wants to say something like, _You're damn right you were,_ but what comes out is:"Marry me?"

They've been down this road before, and Danny's already accepted his proposal, but after everything that's happened, Steve's uncertain where they stand with regard to taking that next step in their relationship.

"You sure you still want me?" Danny's voice is filled with doubt.

Yawning, Grace pipes in before Steve can assure Danny that, yes, he does still want him, had never _stopped_ wanting him. "Can I be the flower girl?"

Steve can't hold back a grin, and he reaches over to ruffle Grace's hair. "I was hoping that you would."

He glances at Danny, to make sure that he's not jumped the gun. There's a look on Danny's face that hits Steve, hard, in the gut, and steals his breath away. Steve isn't sure what to make of the look at first, because it's a new look, or maybe just a new twist on an old look. And when it finally registers to him what it is that he's seeing, his breath quickens and his heart starts to do this funny little fluttering thing in his chest.

It's love. Danny's looking at him with pure, unadulterated love, and Steve's mouth goes completely dry, his palms sweaty.

Grace stifles another yawn and snuggles against her father. She grabs onto Steve's wrist before he can pull it back, and he wraps his arm around her, holding both Danny and Grace in his embrace.

"You wanna take a nap with Danno and me? We baked chocolate chip cookies, for after dinner, but we need to take a nap first, and you look tired."

Steve nods. "Yeah." His heart catches in his throat. "I'd like that very much."

His heart and mind are not yet in sync. The onslaught of quickly spoken words reminds him of simpler times - his sister, when she'd been younger; of Danny, before he'd left.

"C'mon," Danny says, voice husky with affection. He tightens his hold on Steve, kisses him on the cheek.

"A little rest will do all of us some good; I've got a feeling that it's not every day that my little girl, pre-teen," he amends when Grace clears her throat. "And my _fiancé_ ," he blushes, "will find it in their hearts to indulge me in a bit of 'Throwback Thursday' sentimentality."

Grace groans and pushes up on her elbow. She playfully slaps her father on the chest. "Danno."

"Ouch, my wounded pride." Danny rubs at the spot on his chest. "I know, I know, it's not Thursday." Danny shrugs off his daughter's chastisement - purposefully ignoring her not so subtle correction as to what 'Throwback Thursday' really means - with a quiet chuckle.

Shaking her head, Grace rolls her eyes. With a long-suffering sigh, she settles down beside her father, using him as a pillow. Though there are plenty of pillows around them to choose from, Steve prefers to use Danny as a pillow as well.

"Close your eyes, Uncle Steve," Grace advises, her voice full of maturity that reminds Steve she's no longer a little girl.

Steve closes his eyes, and lets the day, the week, the past year and a half and how many ever weeks, days, and hours have passed between now and the rocky road that he and Danny have been on, wash over him.

_Throwback Thursday, indeed,_ Steve thinks, never wanting to revisit those Thursdays that Danny hadn't been with him, again.

It's been a long time, decades maybe, since he's taken a nap, and, though it's late in the afternoon, and a nap will mess with his routine, he thinks that maybe he should do this kind of thing more often.

It feels good.

More than that, it feels right.

"Babe, stop thinking so hard, and sleep," Danny says.

And, with the warmth of Danny and Grace beside him, Steve does just that. He stops thinking, and lets the calm, reassuring presence of the two people he loves most in the world lull him to sleep.


End file.
